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PREFACE. 


THESE: dialogues have been brought together, not with 
the idea that they will afford any adequate conception of 
Plato’s philosophy, —the outgrowth of the teachings of Soc- 
rates, — but because they embody one of the most vivid 
pictures which have come down to us of the age in which 
these men lived and taught. It would be hard, indeed, to 
find a more perfect illustration of the distinctive character- 
istics of any age than is contained in the dialogues of Plato. 

_ Painter and poet no less than‘philosopher, he borrows colour 
from the scenes which surround him, and finds voice for 
his loftiest theories in the conversations of the men with 
whom he is in daily intercourse. As we follow the drama 
_ enacting before us, we feel that the lapse of centuries forms 
_ no barrier between that age and our own. Only when the 
action is set aside for the extended consideration of some — 
abstract theme, are we made aware that our want of famil- 
larity with the intellectual standpoint of that day too often 
‘proves an obstacle to a clear apprehension of the argument. 
Some of these difficulties may perhaps best be met bya 
_ glance at the position occupied by the newer schools of 
_ philosophy in relation to those that had gone before. eae 
In earlier ages, intent upon examining “things under the 
earth and in the heavens,”? philosophers seem habitually 
to have withdrawn themselves to solitary heights of specula- 


\ 


t Apology, 19 B. 


1V PREFACE. 


tive thought, whence, to use Plato’s words, “ they look down 
with exceeding contempt upon us common men, and make 
but small account of us; nor even when they hold discourse 
do they take thought whether we keep pace with them or 
are left behind: each man of them goes on his own way.” ? 

But the day was at hand when “common men” would 
no longer submit to entire exclusion from the world of phi- 
losophy. By this time, however, the inadequacy of systems 
which strove to “explain the unexplainable’”’ had become 
but too apparent. An inevitable re-action took place in 
favour of the practical; and, answering to the new require- 
ments of the day, a new school arose, which proclaimed 
the instruction of men in the right conduct of life as its 
chief end and purpose, and cultivated the arts of rhetoric 
and argumentation, which were yet novelties, as a help 
towards the attainment of this end. 

It is easy to see, that to the active and subtle Greek 
mind, studies such as these would offer a peculiar attraction, 
and, pursued with a dangerous facility, might prove fatal to 
the end which they were at first intended to serve. “The 
_ Greek,” says Taine, “‘is a reasoner even more than a meta- 
physician or a savan¢. He takes pleasure in delicate dis- 
tinctions, in subtle analyses. He delights in splitting hairs, 
in weaving spiders’ webs. In this his dexterity is unrivalled. 
Little matters it to him, that, alike in theory and in prac- 
tice, this too-complicated and: fine-drawn web is of no use 
-whatever: he is content to watch the separate threads as 
they weave themselves into imperceptible and symmetrical 
meshes. Here the national vice is a final outcome of the 
national talent. Nowhere else has been seen a group of 
eminent and popular men who taught with success and 

t Sophist, 243 A. 


PREFACE. Vv 


glory, as did Gorgias, Protagoras, and Polus, the art of 
making the worse appear the better cause, and maintained 
with an appearance of truth an absurd proposition, however 
shocking it might be.” ? 

Ethical problems, to solve which was the avawed object 
of this new school of philosophy, but too frequently were 
_ abandoned for a training intended to ensure worldly success 
“and fame; high ideals, sometimes even moral standards, 
were practically ignored; ability in discussion, facility of 
expression, came to be regarded not merely as helps to 
reach truth, but asthe sole end of education, the “ greatest 
good of man.”? It is doubtless true that to class all the 
immediate predecessors of Socrates indiscriminately in one 
school is as unfair as to make their supposed method a mere 
synonyme for specious argument. Also in their favour it 
should be remembered that an inestimable service was ren- 
dered by these men in preparing the ground for Socrates 
himself, and through him for all subsequent philosophers. 
Had the doctrine that “‘ Man is the measure of all things” 
not been proclaimed by Protagoras, the conclusion would 
_ less soon have been reached, that not only is philosophy 
made for man, but that man also is made for philosophy ; 
and that hence his bounden duty, nay, his privilege it is, to 
apply to each act of his life the test whereby the true may 
be separated from the false, the real from the unreal. 

But between the teachings of these men and those 
of Socrates there is a wide divergence—one less of de- 
gree than of kind, less of method than of aim and pur- 
pose. The long-winded harangues of other teachers, their 
confident dogmatism which induced an uncriticising acqui- 
escence on the part of their-pupils, differed indeed radically 

t Taine, Philosophie de l’Art en Gréce, pp. 25, 26. 2 Gorgias, 452 D. 


vi PREFACE. 


from that rigid cross-examination jn the light of which the 
confusion and poverty of thought hitherto covered by pom- 
pous fluency of diction were laid bare, and the listener was 
compelled to give an account of his real opinions, and either 
to substantiate or abandon them. - Not until Socrates had 
“called down philosophy from the clouds,” was the truth 
discerned that the work of self-examination is no vicarious 
task, but that to study and find out of what use you can be 
to men —in a word, to “know thyself”— jis the study of 
studies, to. last as long as a man shall live.? 

In the pages before us we find the account given by 
Socrates of two famous conversations, — one between him- 
self and Protagoras at the house of Callias, the other on 
the occasion of a visit to the venerable Cephalus and his 
household. It is surely no fanciful parallel which may be 
. traced between the character of the dialogues themselves 
and the atmosphere of the households in which they took 
place. The bustle and confusion which already at break of 
day reign in the home of Callias offer a striking contrast 
with the repose and calm which in the evening hour, sym- 
boli@ of the evening of his declining years, pervade the well- 
ordered abode of Cephalus; the pressing insistence with 
which Socrates is detained by the eager Callias well offsets 
the courteous dignity with which Cephalus invites him to 
be his frequent guest. But no less marked throughout is 
the contrast presented between the Profagoras, with its rest- 
less movement, its apparent absence of unity, and want of 
definite purpose, and the Repudiic, with its broad and stately 
sweep, its calm deliberateness of aim. Yet the one is the 
fitting precursor of the other; if in the second we find 


? Cic. Tusc. Disp. V. iv. 10. 
2 See Xen. Mem. IV. ii. 24-30, and Apology, 38 A. 


PREFACE. vii 


the perfect growth, in the first we have the promise of fruition. 
On purely artistic grounds, however, whether in point of 
vividness of colour or vivacity of action, it would be diffi- 
cult to assign preference to one of these brilliant word-pic- 
tures over the other. In each, the subtle touches which lend 
to the narrative its vivid reality are felt only in their result, 
and all unknown to ourselves we are made to breathe the 
air, to enter as it were into the very heart of the Athens of 
old. In each, transported unconsciously to the every-day 
scenes of Athenian life, we seem to become, not eye-wit- 
nesses only, but actual participators in the action. Surely, 
if the true test of art is its apparent absence, then is art 
here found in its consummate form. 

In the Repudiic, following Socrates to the home of his 
aged friend, we find ourselves one of the group who cluster 
round the good old Cephalus, listening with delight to the 
words of wisdom which fall from his lips. And when, as 
head of the family, he has left us that he may perform the 
evening sacrifice, — when Thrasymachus, arrogating to him- 
self the direction of the argument, attempts by force of sheer 
insolence and bravado to impose his ill-considered doctrines 
upon his unwilling listeners, we enjoy with them the discom- 
fiture of the intellectual bully, as at every turn he becomes 
more hopelessly entangled in his own admissions; and 
finally we exult in the triumphant overthrow of his brutal 
paradox, that the really wise man is the man who is “ perfect 
in injustice.” ? 

In the Profagoras, penetrating with Hippocrates into the 
very bed-chamber of Socrates, we listen to the breathless 
outpourings of the young enthusiast, and hear the sympa- 
thetic but restraining words of Socrates, who is no whit 

t Republic, 348 D. 


* 


VHE : PREFACE. 


disconcerted or annoyed by this ill-timed invasion. And 
when, following the two friends to the hospitable mansion of 
Callias, that “‘ bird of fine plumage which was plucked on 
all sides,” * we are at last admitted by the reluctant porter, 
we find ourselves in the presence of the most celebrated 
teachers of the day. But a few vivid touches, and each 
stands in the very flesh before us. 

In the opposite portico we catch sight of the self-com- 
placent Hippias, whose claims to universal knowledge are 
certain everywhere to draw around him a miniature court 
of admirers. At this moment, encircling the chair of state 
in which he is seated, they are listening with rapt attention, 
while with pompous fluency he expounds the questions 
Which they propose. Hard by, in the store-closet, now con- 
verted from its former use to that of a bed-chamber, lies 
Prodicus, still in bed, —a self-indulgence which his weak 

health may serve to justify, if excuse may not be found for 
it in the earliness of the hour. He too has his circle of 
visitors, and already they are gathered around him, anxious 
to lose no time in beginning that “complete education in 
grammar and language”? which it is his boast to impart. 

But we must not linger over these lesser luminaries. Di- 
rectly in front of us, supported upon every side by a pha- 
lanx of admiring followers as with stately mien he paces the 
portico upon which we enter, behold the great light, Pro- 
tagoras the Sophist! In his delineation of this character, 
with its odd blending of dignity and petulance, self-suffi- 
ciency and pliability, Plato has not allowed himself to be 
unduly influenced by his inveterate hatred of the so-called 
Sophists. Throughout the dialogue Protagoras is represented 
as an upright and honourable man, not unmindful of his high 

1 Aristophanes, Birds, 284-287. 2 Cratylus, 344 B. 


PREFACE. — ix 


calling as an “ educator of men.” * Like Socrates, he be- 
lieves that his mission is to teach morality ; and, like him, 
he does not shrink from the risks inseparable from so unpop- 
ular a task. But the fulness of conviction and the intense 
concentration of purpose which characterise Socrates are 
here lacking. Nowhere is the contrast between the two men 
more apparent than in their respective confessions of faith, 
if so they may be called; the clear announcement made 
by Socrates of his divine mission, when, in the Afology, he 
likens himself to a gadfly sent of God,? as compared with 
the superficial and bombastic tone of the definition given 
by-Protagoras of his own art of sophistry. For the most 
part, however, the words of Protagoras have the ring of reason 
and common sense, and would often bear application to events 
and situations of to-day. For instance, his_remarks to the 
effect that all citizens are self-constituted educators of the 
young are well. calculated t to _awaken a sense of the respon- 
sibilities which devolve upon us all as members of the body 


politic ; while his views on the subject of punishment, had» 
they been understood an oy his own and by later 


a ES 


reformatory. 

Before we approach that familiar figure to which Plato in 
his dialogues so constantly assigns the leading part, let us 
learn what we may of the minor characters who make the 
essential atmosphere for the principal dramats personae, 
and whose eager interest in the argument proclaim them to 
be the progenitors of those men of Athens who “ spent their 
time in nothing else but either to tell or to hear some new 
thing.” 4 

1 Protagoras, 317 B. 7? Apology,30E. 3 Protagoras, 316 D-317 C, 

4 Acts xvii. 21. 


x PREFACE. 


It is noticeable that, in both dialogues, no sooner does 
the discussion begin in good earnest than its original pro- 
moter, Polemarchus in the Aepudlic, Hippocrates in the Pro- 
tagoras, drops into the background; not however until we 
have gathered, from one and the other, an impression of 
the gilded youth of Athens, the class to which they belong. 
Their mental inquisitiveness, their parrot-like repetitions of » 
sayings the meaning of which they have never even tried 
to grasp, stamp them as fair representatives of the average 
young Athenian, —light-hearted, empty-headed, but attrac- 
tive withal in their charming ingenuousness and donhomie, 
and in thefr readiness to recognise and admire their intel- 
lectual superiors, even if they do not fully appreciate their 
worth. But as a study of individual character, Polemarchus, 
whose importunity brings about the discussion on justice 
which ultimately leads to the conception of the ideal Repud- 
Zic, yields in interest to Hippocrates, the youth whose admi- 
ration for Protagoras furnishes the occasion for the argument 
between the ‘great Sophist and Socrates upon the subject of 
virtue. His father, Apollodorus, whose enthusiastic well-nigh 
fanatical admiration of Socrates had gained him the title of 
madman, is the same who is described in the death-scene 
of the Phraedo as “at one time laughing, at another weep- 
ing,’ * and as finally abandoning himself to such an ecstasy 
of grief, that “not a man was present but was overcome 
by his tears and distress, save Socrates himself.” ? Some- 
thing of this ardent and uncontrolled nature Hippocrates 
seems to have inherited. Unable to curb his impatient 
longing to visit the far-famed Protagoras, he bursts into the 
bed-chamber of Socrates, breathless with anticipation of the 
treasures ready to flow from out this fount of eloquence and 

1 Phaedo, 59 B. 2 Ibid., 117 D. 


i Ps 


- ” PREFACE. xi 


wisdom. Though filled with a passionate desire to obtain 
the much-coveted secret of leading men, he js too much 
overawed by the superiority of the great man to plead his 
own cause, and implores Socrates to speak in his behalf; 
while at the same time, not independent enough to brave 
the stigma attaching to the name of Sophist, he blushes at 
the bare suggestion of becoming one by profession. But, 
whatever may be his weakness and inconsistencies, he is 
always frank and open to conviction, less wedded to the 
opinions which he professes, because they are not his own, 
but are only borrowed from the minds of others and thus 
may be as easily set aside as they’were adopted. From 
his apology for not having given Socrates due notice of his 
intended departure in pursuit of his runaway slave, we infer 
a close intimacy between the two friends. Their relations 
with each other may be fairly assumed to be those implied 
in the first part of the dialogue, where the attitude adopted 
by Hippocrates is that of listener and pupil, the position of 
Socrates that of teacher and adviser ; although the part played 
by the latter upon this occasion appears to have been a mere 
trial of strength, a preliminary skirmish before the more seri- 
ous encounter with Protagoras. 

To a character so familiar to us as that of Alcibiades no 
introduction is needed; and yet the vdé/e assumed by him 
in this discussion is worthy of notice. The motive which 
actuated him in coming to the rescue of the argument may 
have been, as is asserted by Critias, pure love of a fight ; but 
his help is none the less efficacious, whether in warding off 
the prosy harangues of Hippias or in bringing Protagoras to 
terms, while he constantly emphasises points which modesty 


would have forbidden Socrates to score in his own favour. 


The part borne by Critias upon this occasion is but an 


xil PREFACE. 


insignificant one. His mere presence, however, in company 

with his boon companion, Alcibiades, suggests the reflection 

that this conversation is typical of many an actual one, to 

which the enemies of Socrates may have alluded when, in 

after days, they accused him of having instilled the princi- 

ples which had shaped the subsequent career of both these 
_ youths. 

About our host, Callias, we know little of interest beyond 
what we may gather from the dialogue itself. Weak in prin- 
ciple and vicious in conduct, he is said to have been actu- 
ated by mere ostentatious vanity in making his house the 
headquarters for the philosophic lights of the day. And 
yet it may be true that he was not wholly without aspirations 
towards better things, and that it was not simply a love of | 
notoriety, but rather the hope of passively absorbing what 
he would not actively strive to attain, which led him to seek 
the company of the so-called votaries of philosophy, a slur 
upon whom may possibly have been intended by Plato in 
representing them as ready to accept the hospitality of a 
man so low in repute. ; 

The most interesting minor characters in the Republic 

are the brothers Glaucon and Adeimantus. The points of 
likeness and yet unlikeness between the two are most deli- 
cately handled. While we can but feel the contagion of 
‘the younger brother’s eagerness and fire, the keen insight 
and mental poise of the graver Adeimantus claim our deeper 
admiration. Both are alike inspired by a whole-hearted zeal 
in the search for truth, and by an unwavering determination 
to shrink from no means of reaching it, even to the extent 
of making themselves for the nonce partisans of an obnox- 
ious cause. The close and intelligent attention with which 
they follow the train of reasoning, and their refusal to accept 


PREFACE. | xiii 


what they have not understood or cannot thoroughly approve, 
place them in striking and agreeable contrast to many of the 
interlocutors in Plato’s Socratic dialogues who, like Pole- 
marchus or Hippocrates, seem incapable of forming inde-- 
pendent opinions. 

In approaching the character of Socrates himself, one 
question inevitably arises: how far is the portrait given us 
by Plato a true likeness? Another contemporaneous por- 
trait of Socrates has come down to us, this also from the 
hand of a friend and disciple. Here every detail is recorded 
with the minute accuracy of a pre-Raphaelite painter; as a 
verbatim report of the conversations of Socrates it is invalu- 
able: but for more than this we must not look. Although 
a devoted admirer of his master, a careful observer, a faith- 
ful recorder of his sayings, it could hardly be expected of 
Xenophon the soldier that he should enter into the inner- 
most recesses of the great thinker’s mind, or find the key- 
note with which every part must be brought into harmony 
if a complete whole is to be realised. Only a poet and 
a philosopher could accomplish such a task as this; and a 
poet Plato is in the first and fullest meaning of the word, 
that namely of creator. Not for a moment, in the varied 
aspects under which Socrates is here portrayed, do we ques- 
tion that absolute fidelity to truth which is the goal of all 
art, whether ideal or so-called realistic. The figure. which 
stands out before us in all its marked individuality we know 
to be no mere invention of a dramatist, but the real, the 
living man. Had Plato been gifted with a less keen and 
delicate artistic sense, he might, as a devoted friend and dis- 
ciple, have been tempted to subordinate truth of delineation 
to his reverence for his master, and to paint him under that 
aspect alone which in the Apology, the Crizvo, the Phaedo, 


XIV PREFACE. 


we know and revere,— that of the hero, the martyr, the 
inspired thinker. Widely removed from this impression is 
that conveyed by many passages in the dialogues before us. 
Upon one occasion we find Socrates compelled to abandon 
a course of argument which only a mistaken conception of- 
his adversary’s ability could have led him to adopt; and 
there are instances not a few where he takes unfair advan- 
tage of the opportunities afforded by the dialectic method 
to play upon the dull wits of his antagonists and mould 
them into whatever grotesque form his fancy may suggest. 
Not unfrequently a passage full of the most elevated moral- 
ity and highest intellectual power is in close proximity to 
some childishly inconsequent reasoning or some impossible 
conclusion. Thus, before reaching the definition of “right 
living,” the end for which the soul was created,? we are 
startled by the statement that “every man would choose 
rather to be benefited by his neighbour than to put him- 
self out to help him” ; 3 while the ridiculous conclusion, art- 
fully deduced from Polemarchus’s definition of justice, that 
the ‘‘ just man is the best thief” + is followed by the asser- 
tion that it is not in the nature of things for the just man 
to do an injury to any fellow-being.5 And again, from the 
fallacious reasoning which occurs in the discussion concern- 
ing courage and confidence,°® we pass to the beautiful de- 
scription of the nature of true knowledge and its ennobling 
effect upon the character.” 

It is especially in the Protagoras that these strange, con- 
tradictions abound. In the irrelevant sallies and flights of 
fancy in which Socrates indulges, in his wilful misconcep- 
tions and misleading sophistries, in the tricks which he 


t Protagoras, 350 C. 2 Republic, 353 D-E. 3 Tbid., 347 D. 
4 Ibid., 334 A. 5 Ibid., 335 D. ©, Protagoras, 350 C. 7 Ibid., 357-359. 


PREFACE. XV 


plays upon his grave and reverend coadjutors, in his deter- 
mination to get the better of every one else by fair means 
or foul, we are reminded of the description given later in 
the Republic * of very young men who, it is said, “ when they 
first taste the sweets of argument, use it as a plaything, 
always employing it to contradict and to refute others, in 
imitation of those by whom they themselves have been 
refuted, and delighting like puppies in worrying and tearing 
in pieces (by means of argument) all those who come near 

them.” 
To account for this novel aspect of the character of Soc- 
“rates and for these many apparent inequalities and inconsis- 
tencies of thought, we may suppose that he is adopting for the 
moment the eristic method which he elsewhere condemns, 
- and is holding up the old processes to ridicule, thus com- 
pelling the ultimate adoption of his own method. Or we 
may-assume that Plato wishes us to see in Socrates the inex- 
perienced theorist, whose opinions, whose conceptions of 
trith even, are of secondary importance as compared with 
the method by which they may be reached and maintained. 
That Plato intended to convey this impression of extreme 
youth may be inferred from the passage where Socrates speaks 
of himself and Hippocrates as yet too young to discuss such 
subjects exhaustively,? or that in which Socrates is dismissed 
by Protagoras with the patronising prophecy that he will “‘one 
day take rank amongst men of note.”3 Nor is it necessary 
to relinquish this theory on the charge to which it is unde- 
niably open, —that of chronological inaccuracy, — for, like 
many another great artist, Plato frequently makes truth of 
detail subservient to truth of idea. Often in some master- 
piece of art representative men of every age are to be seen 

t Republic, 539 B. 2 Protagoras, 314 B. 3 Tbid., 361 E. 


Xvi PREFACE. 


grouped together upon one canvas; by thus sacrificing the 
unities of time and place, the painter is but the more faith- 
ful to the truth which it is his purpose to illustrate. And 
so Plato would doubtless allow no consideration of detail 
to interfere with his object, if he deemed that the merits 
of the method by which we may “test the truth and our 
own selves” might best be proven by demonstrating its su- 
periority, even in its earliest stage, before it was associated 
with any definite views, in dealing with so formidable an 
adversary as Protagoras himself. 

But, whatever hypothesis we adopt, we certainly derive 
from this delineation of Socrates the impression of a man 
who, in love with his own method, delights in it for its 
own sake, enjoying “the chase as much as the object of 
the chase, the journey as much as the journey’s end.’’! 
None the less clearly, however, through all these vagaries, 
may be traced the salutary effects of the new system whose 
aim it was to force upon men the conviction that a “ life 
without self-examination is not worth living.” ? 

That the most inveterate enmity should have been excited 
by the course which Socrates pursued cannot be a surprise 
to any student of human nature. The man who makes it 
his life’s object, not only to insist upon the necessity of self- 
study, but to make men actually convict themselves of cul- 
pable ignorance, can hope for no quarter at the hands of 
those who, though not invulnerable to the stings of the 
“oadfly sent. of God,” will not allow themselves to be 
goaded into a sense of shame. But not all the listeners of 
Socrates were of this stamp. ‘The eager interest excited by 
the subjects discussed in these dialogues, the earnestness 
with which the most abstruse arguments are followed, testify 

1 Taine, Philosophie de l’Art en Gréce, p. 25. 2 Apology, 38 A. 


er 


PREFACE. XVii 


to something more than the mental curiosity and activity 
which characterised even the average Athenian of that day. 
We can but feel that here new impulses are being stirred, 
new ideas are being generated. 

In the Protagoras, day has hardly dawned, and already a 
company of Athenians are gathered together, intent upon 
defining virtue and discovering whether it is possible to 
acquire it; while in the Aepudiic, far on into the night a 
group may be found absorbed in the contemplation of jus- 
tice and the work wrought by it upon the soul. Not to the 
most frivolous amongst their number does it occur to look 
upon any hour as ill-chosen which is devoted to topics of 
this nature. 

Scenes such as these may no longer be witnessed in our 
midst ; but who can mark the wide-spread interest in all sub- 
jects relating to the conduct of life, as set forth in the very 
novels of our day, and not admit that now no less than then 
these are living questions? Our novelists are but following 
the example of Plato, when they present to us their theories 
and speculations clothed in dramatic form. They differ 
from him only in this, that they speak through the medium 
of fictitious characters, he through the voices of real men. 
To-day the discussion of abstract themes no longer forms 
a natural incident of every-day life. The theoretical has 
given place to the practical. Only when they bear directly 
upon tangible interests do men who have a part to play in 
the world’s progress pause to grapple with those problems 
which, in every age, have at once fascinated and baffled the 
human mind. At first glance, indeed, many of the Platonic 
discussions, from their antiquated phraseology and seemingly 
obsolete turn of thought, may appear to us merely as echoes 
from an age long past ; but, upon a nearer view, the unfamiliar 


xviii ‘PREFACE, 


garb with which they are invested falls away, and behold, the 
doubts and pefplexities and difficulties before us are our 
own. 

Joining the group in the Profagoras, let us listen to their 
earnest questionings concerning virtue. Shall the different 
-attributes which go to make up this most precious of pos- 
sessions be likened to so many separate gems, each preserv- 
ing its own identity even when grouped with others in one 
cluster, or, like the many faces of a crystal, are these_attri- 
butes but different phases of one harmonious whole? This 
_. surely is no idle speculation, but a*problem of vital import 

to us all. For if we recognisé virtue to be indeed “ one 
| through all, a unity in multiplicity,” we know also that the 
perfection of no single virtue can be reached if the quest of 
_ virtue as a whole is abandoned ; we know that the end to 
| be held steadily before us, the:one ideal to be untiringly 
pursued, is virtue in its entirety. And since by ignorance 
alone we are blinded to this truth, so by education alone 
the eye of the soul is opened tothe “ things that are real,” 
and we are enabled to recognise virtue as the indissoluble 
bond which holds together all that is good and pure and 
high, and to make that “ choice which is best both for this 
life and for the next.” ? 

Nor is the definition attempted in the Republic one of 
less moment. Bearing in mind the wide and deep signifi- 
cance of the word justice, its old-time Scriptural sense of 
righteousness, we see how deeply it concerns us to know 
the true meaning of all that this word involves. Now as 
then the same incomprehensible order of things surrounds 
us upon every side. Still is the just man laughed to scorn, 
and plotted against by the wicked. Still does he behold 

t Republic, 618 E. 


Pe oe ay 


aT es ee er a ee 


__ eT 


; 
; 
> 
. 


eS ee 


- PREFACE. xix 


“,. . right perfection wrongfully disgraced, 
And art made tongue-tied by authority, 
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, 
And captive good attending captain ill.” . 


Now, as then, when our dark hours are upon us, filled with 
dismay and bitterness of soul, we are tempted to ask our- 
selves whether justice is not a blind superstition or idle 
dream, or even the unwitting accomplice of that “captain 
ill” which is its bitterest foe. And therefore to-day, no less 
than in the days of Socrates, it is good that we should listen 
to the triumphant refutation of that doctrine, so subversive 
of all morals, which affirms that might is right. Now, no 
less than then, do we need to be reminded that, so long as 


_ we have breath and power of utterance, it behooves us to 


come to the rescue of justice if we behold her evil en- 
treated ;* to hear the truth unswervingly maintained, that 
the higher and stronger nature is, by virtue of the “ law that 
worketh for righteousness,” not the tyrant over the lower 


and weaker, but its protector and benefactor ;? to recog-: 


nise that injustice is the greatest of all evils which the soul 


‘may harbour, while justice is her greatest good.3 


These are the problems, old and yet ever new, which 
engrossed the mind and heart of Socrates and his friends, 
as they can never cease to engross those who, in every age, 
are earnestly seeking out “the way of right living, by walk- 
ing in which every one of us may live his life to the best 
advantage.” 4 


* Republic, 368 C. 2 Ibid. 342D. 3 Ibid. 366E. 4 Ibid., 344 E. 


, 


CONTENTS. 


PROTAGORAS. 


CHIEF CHARACTERS IN THE DIALOGUE. 


SOCRATES. 

Hippocrates, his Friend. 

ALCIBIADES, } 
Young Athenians of birth. 

CRITIAS, . 

PROTAGORAS of Adbdera, 

Hiprpias of £iis, Sophists. 

PRopDICcUus of Ceos, 


CALLIAS, a wealthy Athenian. 


The scene opens at daybreak in the house of Socrates at Athens, 
but is soon transferred to the house of Callias. 
The dialogue is related by Socrates, immediately upon its close, to a 


friend whom he meets in the street or market-place. 


- 


: 
: 


> 


PR 


THE SOPHISTS. 


PROTAGORAS. 


309 = Friend. Where are you from, Socrates? But 
I need hardly ask, —fresh from the chase of the 
young Alcibiades, of course. Well, I must con- 
fess that I too, when I saw him the other day, 
thought him handsome still, but a handsome 
man, —for between ourselves, Socrates, a man 
he is now;* his beard is already beginning to 
grow. 

Socrates. And what of that? Do you, then, 
not agree with Homer, who says that the most 
charming age is when the beard first appears,? 
which is now just the age of Alcibiades? 

fF. Well, how stand matters now? Have 
you just left the youth? and on what terms are 
you with him? 

S. On excellent terms, I should say, and 
never better than this very day. He came to 
my rescue, and has been doing a great deal of 
talking for me; I have only just parted from 
him, But I must tell you an amazing thing: 

3 


310 


PROTAGORAS. 


although he was present, I paid no attention to 
him ; indeed, more than once I quite forgot that 
he was there at all. 

F. Howcan things have come to such a pass 
between you and him? Surely you cannot have 
lighted upon any one fairer than he, at least in 
this city ! 

S. Indeed I have, —one much fairer. 

fF. What do you mean? A citizen, or a 
stranger ? 

S. <A stranger. 

fF. Where from? 

S. From Abdera.3 | 

Ff. And were you so struck with the beauty 
of this stranger that you thought him fairer 
than the son of Cleinias ? 

S. And must it not ever be true, my excel- 
lent friend, that the wiser appears the fairer? 

F, Oh! nowI see, Socrates; you have lighted 
upon some wise man, and you come to, us fresh 
from him. 

S. The wisest, undoubtedly, of all now liv- 
ing ; that is if you account Protagoras the wisest. 

fF. Why, what can you mean? Is Protagoras 
in town? 

S. Yes, he arrived the day before yesterday. 

F. - I suppose, then, it is from a talk with him 
that you have just come? 

~ S. Yes; and a great deal we had to say to 


each other. 


PROTAGORAS. | 5 


F. Then pray tell us at once all about your 
conversation —at least if there is nothing to 
prevent you. Let my servant give you his 
place, and sit down here by me. 

S. With all my heart; and I shall be thank- 
ful to you if you will listen. 

F. And we shall be thankful to you if you 
will tell us about it. 

S. In that -case, there will be twice-told 
thanks. But now listen. Last night, just be- 
fore. daybreak, Hippocrates, the son of Apollo- 
dorus and brother of Phason,} began to knock 
very violently with his stick at my door, and no 
sooner was it opened than in he came with a 
rush, calling out in a loud voice, — 

‘I say, Socrates, are you awake or asleep?” 

I recognised him by his voice, and said, — 

“Ts that you, Hippocrates? No bad news, I 
hope?” - 

“None but good,” he replied. 

“That is well,’ I said; “but what is it? and 
why, pray, have you come at this time of day?” 

“ Protagoras has arrived,’ he answered, as he 
came in and stood by my cot. 

“Ves,” I said, “the day before yesterday. 
Have you only just found this out?” 

“Yes, by the gods,” answered he, “only last 
evening.” And as he spoke, feeling his way 
along by the bed, he sat down at my feet. 

“Last evening, to be sure,” he went on, “and 


PROTAGORAS. 


very late it was too, on my return from Oenoé.® 
My slave-boy, Satyrus, had run away: I had 
meant to tell you that I was going in pursuit of 
him, but something else put it out of my mind. 
Well, I had got back, and we had supped and 
were just going to bed, when my brother said to 
me: ‘Protagoras has arrived.’ At first I was for 
coming directly to you, but then I considered that 
it was altogether too far on in the night. But 
the very instant I had slept off the effects of my 
fatigue, up I got and came off here directly.” 

Knowing his ardent and excitable nature, 
I said, — 

“Well, what is this to you? Surely Protago- 
ras has not defrauded you in any way?” 

“By the gods, he has though, Socrates,” an- 
swered he, laughing; “for he keeps his wisdom 
all to himself, and does not give me any.” 

“By Zeus,” said I, “if you offer him money, 
and speak him fair, he will make a wise man of 
you too.” 

“Would to Zeus and the gods,” he exclaimed, 
“it only depended upon that! for I would not 
spare my own money, no, nor that of my 
friends either. And this is the very reason I 
have come to you now, to beg that you will do 
the talking for me. I myself am too young, 
and besides I have never seen Protagoras — 
no, nor ever heard him —for I was still a child 
when he staid here before. But all praise him, 


. ae ¢ 
€ 


311 


PROTAGORAS. 7 


Socrates, and say that he is the ablest of speak- 
ers. Why then do we not go to him at once, 
that we may be sure of finding him at home? 
He is staying, I hear, at the house of Callias 
the son of Hipponicus.? So let us be going.” 

“Not yet, my good fellow,” I said, “for it 
is too early. Come, let us get up and go out 
into the court. We can walk up and down 
there and so pass the time till daybreak ; then 
we will go. Protagoras, for the most part, 
spends his time indoors; so do not fear, we 
shall in all likelihood find him at home.” 

With this we got up and walked up and down 
in the court, and I, by way of testing the reso- 
lution of Hippocrates, began to examine and 
question him. 

“Now, Hippocrates,” I said, “since you have 
made up your mind to go to Protagoras and pay 
him a fee on your own account, I wish you. 


would tell me what he is that you think of going 


to him, and what it is you expect him to make 
of you. Suppose you took it into your head 
to go to your own namesake, Hippocrates of 
Cos, the Asclepiad,* and pay him a fee on your 
own account, and some one were to ask you: 
‘Tell me, Hippocrates, what is this Hippoc- 


- rates, that you intend to pay him a fee?’ What 


would you answer ?”’ 
“T should answer that I pay him as a physi- 
cian,” he replied. 


PROTAGORAS. 


“And what do you expect him to make of 
you?” 

« A physician.”’ 

“And suppose you took it into your head to 
go to Polycleitus the Argive, or to Pheidias the 
Athenian,? and pay them a fee on your own ac- 
count, and some one were to ask you: ‘ What are 
Polycleitus and Pheidias, that you think of pay- 
ing them money?’ What would you answer?” 

*‘T should answer: ‘It is as sculptors that I 
pay them.’” 

“And what do you expect them to make of 
you?” 

« A sculptor, of course.” 

“Very good,” I said. ‘Now then, we are 
going to Protagoras, you and I, and shall be 
ready to pay him money for you, our own if it 
be enough to serve as an inducement to him ; if 
not, spending that of our friends as well. And 
suppose some one, seeing us so very eager in the 
matter, were toask: ‘Tell me, Socrates and Hip- 
pocrates, what is this Protagoras, that you think 
of paying him money?’ What answer should 
we give? By what name do we hear Protagoras 
called, as we hear Pheidias called by that of sculp- 
tor, and Homer by that of poet? What name 
of this kind do we hear given to Protagoras?” 

« As you know, Socrates,” he said, “they call 
the man a Sophist.”’ 

“Then, it is as a Sophist that we mean to 
visit him, and to pay him money?” 


312 


PROTAGORAS. 9 


“Most certainly.” 

“How then, if the person went on to ask: 
‘And you yourself, what is it that you expect to 
become by going to Protagoras?’ To which he 
made answer with a blush,—for by this time 
there was daylight enough for me to see his 
face, — | 

“Evidently a Sophist, if this case is like the 
other.” | 

“In the name of the gods,” I exclaimed, 
“would you not be ashamed to figure before all 
Greece as a Sophist ?”’ 

“Tn truth, Socrates, I should, if I must needs 
speak my real mind.” 

“But perhaps, Hippocrates, you do not believe 
that this is the sort of teaching you will get from 
Protagoras, but rather that it will be like what 
you got from the schoolmaster, the cithara- 
player, or the trainer? Each of their arts you 
studied, not for the art itself, as if you were go- 
ing to practise it, but for the general training it 
gave, befitting a freeman and a man of leisure.” 

“Most decidedly, I think,” said he, “that 
this rather is the sort of teaching one gets from 
Protagoras.”’ 

“Do you know, then, what you are about to 
do, or are you not aware of it?” I said. 

“What do you mean?” 

“T mean that you are about to submit your 
soul to the treatment of a man who, as you say, 


IO 


» PROTAGORAS. 


is a Sophist ; though what a Sophist is, I should 
be surprised if you knew. And yet if you do 
not know this, neither do you know to what it 
is that you are giving over your soul, — whether 
to a good thing, or to a bad.” 

“But I do think,” he said, “that I know.” 

“Then tell me what you believe the Sophist 
to be.” 

“T believe,” he answered, “that he is one ~ 
who, as his name implies, understands all that 
belongs to wisdom.” 

“But surely we may say of painters and car- 
penters also, that it is they who understand all 
that belongs to wisdom. If however we were 
asked which branch of wisdom painters under- 
stand, we should probably answer: That, which 
has to do with the production of pictures, and so 
on of the rest. Now, if we were asked in which 
branch the Sophist is wise, what should we an- 
swer? Which branch of production does he 
understand?” . 

“What could we say of him, Socrates, but 
that he understands making men good speak- — 
ers?” . | : 
“Very likely we should be saying what is 
true,” said I, “but this is not enough, for our 
answer itself needs yet another question, namely : 
about what is it that the Sophist makes us good 
speakers? The cithara-player, without doubt, 
makes us speak well about the art which he 


3 3 ? 


313 


PROTAGORAS. II 


understands, that is cithara-playing, does he 
not?” 

sh oe 

“Very good. About what, then, does the 
Sophist make us speak well? About that which 
he understands, of course, does he not?” 

**T suppose so.” 

“ And what is it that the Sophist himself un- 
derstands and also imparts to his disciple?” 

“By Zeus,” said he, “I have not another 
word to say about it.” 
Whereupon I exclaimed, — 
“ How is this! Do you know to what danger 
you are about to expose your soul? Surely if 
yeu. were obliged to entrust your body to some 
one’s keeping, with the ‘risk of its being made ' 
better or worse, you would carefully consider 
whether or no it ought to be entrusted to: him, 
and you would call together in council your 
friends and relatives, and ponder the question 
many days. But as to that which you set so 
much more store by than the body; — your soul, 
the thing on which depends your whole fate for 
weal or for woe,—in regard to this, I say, 
neither father nor brother nor any of your friends 
have you consulted whether or no it ought to be 
entrusted to this stranger who has only just made 
his appearance. You heard of his arrival, as you 
say, only last night; and yet, taking neither 
thought nor advice about him and whether you 


I2 


ee 


PROTAGORAS. 


ought to entrust yourself to him or not, here you 
are at earliest dawn all ready to spend your own 
money and that of your friends as well, for all the 
world as if you had made. up your mind before- 
hand that it is necessary at any cost to put your- 
self under Protagoras, a man whom, by your 
own confession, you neither know nor have ever 
talked with. You call him a Sophist, but what 
kind of a thing a Sophist may be you evidently 
do not know in the least, and yet to a Sophist 
you are about to confide yourself.” 

When he had heard me out he said, — 

«So it seems, Socrates, according to what you 
say.” 

“And is not a Sophist, Hippocrates, a kind 


of merchant or pedler, who deals in the sup- - 
plies which the soul lives upon? This is the . 


sort of man he seems to me, at least.” 

“And what does the soul live upon, Soc- 
rates?” 

“Upon knowledge, undoubtedly,” I answered, 
“‘and see to it, my friend, that the Sophist, in 
praising what he has for sale, does not cheat us 
like those who deal in food for the body, —the 
merchant and the pedler. For they, very likely, 


do not know themselves which of the supplies 


they carry about aré good or which bad for the 


body, but they praise alike every thing they 
have for sale, nor do any of those who buy from 
_ them know any better, unless by chance one of 


z 


314 


PROTAGORAS. 13 


them is a professional trainer or physician. In 
like manner they who carry their learning about 
from city to city, driving a petty trade with it, 
and offering it for sale to any one who wishes 
to buy, these also praise all that they have for 
sale. And I imagine, my excellent friend; that 
some of these also do not know whether what 
they sell is good or bad for the soul, and they 
who buy of them are in the same case, unless 
by chance one of them is a physician of the 
soul. If you then happen to understand which 
of these things are good and which bad, you 
may safely buy learning of Protagoras or of 
any other man; but, if you do not know, then 
have a care, my good fellow, lest you emperil 
that which you hold most dear, and risk it upon 
the hazard of a die. For surely there is much 
greater risk in buying knowledge than in buying 
food. For meat and drink when a man has 
bought them from the merchant he may carry 
home in suitable vessels, and before taking 
them into the body either by eating or drink- 
ing, he may stow them away in his house, and 
having summoned some expert consult with him 
as to what he should eat and drink, and what 
he should not, and how much and when; so 
that in this purchase the risk is not great. But 
there is no suitable vessel in which knowledge 
may be carried home; for when a man has paid 


‘the price he receives the knowledge into his 


¢ 


14 


PROTAGORAS. 


very soul, and must go his way either injured 
or benefited. Let us, then, look into these 
matters with the help of men older than our-. 
selves, for we are as yet rather young to discuss 
such a subject. But still we will go and hear 
the man, inasmuch as that was our original in-. 
tention, and, after we have heard him we will 
converse with the others also. For not only is 
Protagoras here, but also Hippias’ of Elis, and 
I believe Prodicus the Ceian besides,*° and many 
other wise men.” 

Thus agreed, we set out, but, when we came 
to the vestibule we remained there standing; 
for we were in the midst of discussing some 
question which had come up on the way, and in 
order not to leave it unfinished, but to make an 
end of it before going in, we stood in the yes- 
tibule talking it over until we came to am un- © 
derstanding. Now, the porter, a eunuch, must | 
have overheard us: and so overrun isthe house 
with Sophists, that he, I suppose, has lost all 
patience with those who frequent it ; for on our 
knocking at the door he opened it indeed, but 
the moment he saw us, ‘“‘ Pshaw, only more Soph- 
ists!”’ he exclaimed : ‘‘my master is busy ;” and 
with this he clapped the door to with both hands 
as violently as he was able. We then began to 
knock again, whereupon by way of answer he 
called out to us through the closed door :— 

“Did you not hear me say, you fellows, that 
he is busy?” 


315 


PROTAGORAS. 15 


“But, my friend,” I said, “we have not come 
to see Callias, nor are we Sophists, so do not 
be alarmed. It is Protagoras we have come to 
see ; pray be good enough then to announce us.” 

Most unwillingly even then did the man open 
the door. 

On entering, we came upon Protagoras who 
was walking in the portico.** Next to him on 
the one side walked Callias the son of Hippo- 
nicus, and Paralus.the son of Pericles, his. half- 
brother on the mother’s side, and Charmides the 
son of Glaucon. And on the other side were 
Xanthippus the other son of Pericles, and Philip- 
pides the son of Philomelus, and Antimoerus of 
Mende, who is the most noted of all the disciples 
of Protagoras and is studying the art as a pro- 
fession, to becomea Sophist.” And of the throng 
who followed on*behind listening to his words, 
the greater part were strangers whom Protagoras 
draws from out of the various cities through 
which he passes, like Orpheus bewitching them 
by his voice, while they follow after, by his voice 
bewitched. Certain of the band, however, were 
natives of the place. And, as I looked at this 
band, I was most of all delighted to see how 
skilfully they avoided getting into the way of 
Protagoras. Whenever he and they who were 
with him turned, these listeners, dividing in the 
midst, would range themselves in orderly fashion 
on this side and that, after which, wheeling 


16 


PROTAGORAS. 


round in a circle, they would fall behind again 
in capital style. | 

And then, as Homer says, ‘uplifting mine 
eyes, I beheld’ ‘3 Hippias the Eleian, seated in 
the opposite portico, on a chair of state; while 
around him upon benches were seated Eryxima- 
chus the son of Acumenus, and Phaedrus the 
Myrrhinusian, and Andron the son of Andro- 
tion ;** and of the strangers present some were 
his own fellow-citizens, and some from other 
parts. They appeared to be asking Hippias 
questions in regard to nature and the heavenly 
bodies, and he, seated upon his throne, passed 
in review what was asked by each one, and gave 
judgment upon it. 

And furthermore, ‘on Tantalus also I looked ;’ *5 
for you must know that Prodicus of Ceos was 
staying there as well. He was in a certain 
room which was formerly used by Hipponicus 
as a store-closet,’© but which now, because of 
his many guests, Callias had cleared out and 
turned into a guest-chamber. And Prodicus 
was still in bed, wrapped up in skins and cover- 
ings, a great many of them, as it appeared. 
In one of the seats nearest him was Pausanias 
of the deme of Cerameis,’? and with Pausanias a © 
youth, a mere stripling, of mien so fair that I 
could but imagine his nature to be both fair 
and upright. I believe I heard that his name 
was Agathon, and I should not be surprised if 


PROTAGORAS. 17 


he were the favourite of Pausanias. So, then, 
this youth was there, and both the Adeiman- 
tuses, the son of Cepis as well as the son of 
_Leucolophides, and certain others.** What they 
were talking about, I was not able to gather from | 
without ‘where I was standing, although I was 
very eager to hear Prodicus, for I hold him to 

316 be an exceedingly wise and an inspired man; 
but the deep tones of his voice made the room 
resound with an echo which confused all that 
was said. 

Hardly had we entered, when, following close 
upon us, came Alcibiades the fair, as you call 

. ~him, and rightly too I think, and with him Critias 
the son of Callaeschrus.’? 

On first entering the room we spent a few 
moments in looking about us, and then going 
up to Protagoras I said, — 

«“ We have come, Protagoras, to see you, Hip- 
pocrates and I.” 

“Do you wish,” said he, “to speak to me 
alone, or before these other people ?”’ 

“Tt makes no difference to us,” I said; “but, 

__ when you have heard what has brought us here, — 
you yourself shall decide.” 

«¢ And what, may I ask, has brought you?”’ 

“‘ Hippocrates, whom you see here, is a native 
of this place, the son of Apollodorus, of a great 
and wealthy family, and a match, I should say, 
in point of natural gifts for any young man 


18 


PROTAGORAS. 


of his own age. He has, I believe, set his 
heart upon gaining renown in the state, and this 
he thinks he is most likely to do if he puts him- 
self under-you. It is for you now to consider 
whether you think it best to converse with us 
by ourselves, or before the others.” ; 
“You are right, Socrates,’ he said, “to use 
caution on my account, for, in truth, a stranger 
who, going into your large cities, persuades the 
flower of the youth to give up all connection 
with every other teacher, whether young or old, 
fellow-citizen or stranger, and to put themselves 
under him, that by doing this they may become 
better men, —a man who acts thus, I say, must 
needs be on his guard, for no slight jealousies 
and plottings and enmities of all kinds come 
about from this cause. Now I maintain that 
the art of sophistry is an ancient art, but that 
the men of ancient times who practised it, fear- 
ing the odium it would bring upon them, adopted 
a disguise behind which they screened them- 
selves, —some using to this end poetry, as Homer 
and Hesiod and Simonides ; some mysteries and 
oracles, as Orpheus and :Musaeus and their 
school: others again have, I believe, even used 
the art of gymnastics, like Iccus of Tarentum 
and the Sophist who is second to none other of 
the present day, Herodicus, now of Selymbria 
but formerly of Megara. Your own Agathocles 
used music as a disguise, but was a great Sophist 


‘ PROTAGORAS. 19 


and so did Pythocleides the Ceian and many 
others.”° All these, as I have said, made use of 
these arts by way of disguise, because they feared 
317 to excite enmity. But for my part I disagree 
with all these men, for I do not think that they 

- by any means brought about what they wished. 
The leading men of the state, on whose account 
these disguises are used, are never blinded by 
aaa while, as to the common people, they may 
be said not to use their senses at all, for they 
‘only repeat over and over again what they are 
told by their betters. Now fora man to attempt 
' to run away when all the time he is so clearly 
/ in sight that he cannot possibly do it, —why, 
' the*very attempt is’ utter folly, and of neces- 
sity greatly enhances the ill will of his fellow- 
men against him, fora man who acts thus, in 
addition to all his other misdeeds, is accounted 
by them a thorough knave. I therefore take 
the opposite course, and confess that I am a 
Sophist and that I educate men; and to confess 
‘this is, tomy thinking, a better precaution than 
to deny it. And other precautions also I duly 
take, so that I*have never, thank God! come to 
any harm through confessing myself to be a 
Sophist. And yet many years now have I pur- 
sued the art, for the sum of my years is great ; 
indeed, there is not one amongst you all whose 
father I might not be, so far as age goes. If 
you, then, are willing, I should be much better 


20 


PROTAGORAS. 


pleased to discourse Epps these matters UOT 
all who are here present.” 

And I, suspecting that he wished to show off 
before Prodicus and Hippias and to make them 
aware that we had come as his admirers, said :— 

“Why should we not summon both Prodicus 
and Hippias, and those who are with them, that 


~ they may all hear us in 


“By all means,” said Protagoras. 

“Shall we not then,” said Callias, ‘make scaly 
a place in which to hold our meeting, so that you 
may be seated while you are discussing ?” 

This proposal seemed a good one, and de- 
lighted, all of us, at the prospect of listening to 
learned men, we ourselves seized the benches 
and chairs, and arranged them near Hippias 
where there were a number of benches already. 
Meanwhile Callias and Alcibiades made Prodicus 


- get up from the couch where he was lying, and 


came in bringing with them both him and all 
his company. 

When we were all seated, Protagoras began 
thus :— 

“Now that all these pedple are assembled, 
Socrates, I will beg you to repeat what you said 
to me a little while ago about this youth.” 

“Tn speaking of our reason for coming, Pro- 


318 tagoras,”’ I answered, “I shall begin in the same 


way that I did just now: Hippocrates here has 
set his heart upon putting himself under you, 


PROTAGORAS. 21 


and he would be glad to know what will be the 
effect upon him if he does this. This is all 
the speech we have to make.” 

Then Protagoras took up the discourse, and 
said : — 

“Young man, this is how it will be with you 
if you put yourself under me. The very first 
day you spend under my teaching you will return. 
home a better man, and the next day it will be 
the same, and each Sayegh day you will grow 
in goodness.” 

On hearing this I aaa oe 

“What you say, Protagoras, is nothing sur- 
prising, but a matter of course; for even at your 
age, and wise man that you ate, if some one were 
to teach you what you happened not to know, 
you would be the better for it. But that was 
not what I meant. Suppose that the desire 
which Hippocrates has most at heart were on 
a sudden to change, and he become bent upon 
joining that youth who has lately come to live 
here,—Zeuxippus of Heracleia,2*— and that, 
going to him just as he has now come to you, 
he were to hear from him the very same things 
he has just heard from you, that each day spent 
under his teaching he would go on improv- 
ing and growing better and better; and sup- 
pose that he were to ask, ‘What do you mean 
by saying that I shall grow better, and in what 
shall I improve?’ Zeuxippus would answer, ‘In 


22 


PROTAGORAS. 


painting.’ And if he put himself under Orthag- 
oras of Thebes,?? and heard the same from him 
that he has from you, and asked in what he is 
to improve day by day by coming under his 
care, he would be told, ‘In flute-playing.’ 

Do you then now speak in your turn and 
answer this youth and me who am questioning 
you in his name: We understand that Ilip- 
pocrates here, on the very first day he puts 
himself under Protagoras, is to return home a 
better man, and on each succeeding day is to 
improve in like degree,—but in what way, 
Protagoras, and in what subject ?”’ 

When he had heard me out, Protagoras said : — 
“You are an excellent questioner, Socrates, and 
I take pleasure in answering those who ask 
good questions. Well then, Hippocrates in 


coming to me will not undergo what he would 


319 


have had to undergo in joining any other of the 
Sophists ; for they do dishonour to the youths: 
who, having just escaped from the arts, are led 
back to the arts again, and against their will 
plunged into the study of calculation and as- 
tronomy and geometry and music,’ —as he 
said this he cast a significant glance at Hippias, © 
— ‘but he who comes to me will learn nothing 
but what he came to learn, — judgment, which 
in domestic affairs-will-enable him to manage’ 
his household in the best way, and in affairs of 
state to acquire the greatest influence, both in 
speech and action.” 


be 


PROTAGORAS. 23 


* Wait,” said I, “do I follow your meaning? 
I should say you were speaking of the art of 
politics, and promising to make men good citi- 


zens.” 


“This, Socrates,” he answered, “is the very 
thing that I make a profession of.”’ 

“And a noble art you possess indeed,” I said, 
“if you really do possess it; but I will tell you 
exactly what I think about this. I have never 
believed, Protagoras, that the art can be taught 
at all, and yet when you say it can I know not 
how to disbelieve you. I am bound, however, 
to declare my reason for believing that it can 
neither be taught, nor procured by one man for 


. another. 


That the Athenians are shrewd men is well 
known to me, as it is to all the other Greeks. 
Now I notice that whenever we come together 
in the assembly, and action is to be taken by the 
state about matters which relate to building, 
the builders are summoned to give their advice 
in regard to buildings, and in case of ship- 
building, then the ship-wrights are summoned ; 
and so on of all other matters which they think 
may be taught and learned. And if any other 
man whom the people do not regard as a skilled 
workman undertakes to give his advice, then, 
be he never so well-favoured and rich and high 
born, they accept it none the more for that, 
but laugh him to scorn and hoot at him until 


24 


PROTAGORAS. 


* 


he who is trying to speak is actually hooted 
down, and either stops of his own accord, or is 
arrested by the city guard and turned out by 
order of the prytanes.? This, then, is the action 
they take in regard to arts which they think 
may be professed; but when they come to delib- 
erate on any thing touching the management of 
the state, then indeed may any man arise and 


give his advice, carpenter as well as blacksmith, 


cobbler and shipmaster, rich and poor, well 
born and of low degree.*# And when these un- 
dertake to give advice no one casts in their 
teeth, as in the former instance, that they have 
never learned the art nor had any teacher in it; 


_from which it is evident that the Athenians do 


not believe it can be taught. 

Nor does this hold good only where the inter- 
ests of the state are concerned. In private life 
also, even the best and wisest are not able to 
impart to others this virtue ?5 which, as citizens,— 


_ they themselves possess. There is Pericles, the 
father of these youths. He has educated them 


320 


well and carefully in all that is to be acquired 
from schoolmasters, but the very thing in which 
he most excels he neither teaches them himself, 
nor imparts to them through another. Like 
sacred cattle*® left to range at will, they are 
allowed to roam about by themselves, on the 
mere chance that they may somewhere fall in 
with virtue. And perhaps you may remember, 


PROTAGORAS. 25 


how in the case of Cleinias,?”7 the younger 

brother of Alcibiades, this same man Pericles, 

who was his guardian, fearful lest he might 

be ruined by his brother, took him away, and 

sent him to Ariphron to be educated. But be- 

fore six months had passed, Ariphron sent 

him back to his guardian, because he could 

do nothing with him. And I could name any, 
number of men besides, who although good- 
themselves, have never made any one better,- 
whether those of their own kin or strangers. 

And so, Protagoras, when I consider all these 

things, I come to the conclusion that virtue 

cannot be taught at all; but then again, when 

I hear you talking in this way, I am staggered, 

and begin to think there is something in what 

you say, for I hold you to be a man of varied ex- 

perience, who have learned many things from 

others, and have found out many for yourself. 

If then you can bring forth any convincing proof 

to show us that virtue can be taught, do not, I 

beg of you, begrudge it to us.” 

“Most certainly, Socrates,” said he, “I shall 
not begrudge it. But tell me, how would you 
‘rather have me prove my point? ina myth, as 
an old man does to young people, or by sore 
of argument?” 

Whereupon a number of those who were 
seated there, called out to him to prove it in 
whichever way he preferred. 


26 


PROTAGORAS. 


“Tt seems to me, then,” he said, “that the 
myth would be the most pleasing way. 


~~~ Time was when gods indeed existed, but mor- 


21 


tal race there was none. But when, as foreor- 
dained, the hour had arrived for living creatures 
to come into being, the gods fashioned them with- 
in the bowels of the earth from combinations of 
fire and water and such other elements as may 
be blended with these. And upon the eve of 
bringing them forth into the light of day, the 
gods appointed Prometheus and Epimetheus 
to put the finishing touches to the work, and to 
dispense the divers faculties to each race as best 
befitted it. 
Then Epimetheus begged Prometheus to let 
him make the distribution. ‘And you, he said, 
‘after it is made, shall inspect it.’ Thereupon, 
having won the consent of Prometheus, he 
began his. task. Now in the distribution, 
some he endowed not with swiftness but with 
strength, while to the weaker he assigned swift- 
ness; to some he gave armour, while for the 
unarmed, by bestowing upon them some special 
physical characteristic, he contrived also a means 
of protection. Thus, to those whom he made 
small he gave wings for flying away, or else the 
capacity for living under ground, while their size 
was the safeguard of those who were large; and 
always in dispensing the faculties he sought to 
offset one by another, planning all with a view 


PROTAGORAS. 27 


to prevent the extinction of any race. Then, 
having provided them with means of escape 
from mutual destruction, he contrived protec- 
tion for them against the seasons, wrapping 
them around with thick hair and tough skins, 
suitable both for warding off the winter storms 
and for keeping out the summer heat, and ser- 
viceable also as a couch, that each creature 
might have growing upon him his own bed; 
and to some he gave horny hoofs to cover 
their feet, to others claws and stiff callous 
skins. After this he devised for the different 
races different kinds of food; for some, herbs 
of the earth, for some, fruits of the trees, and 
for others, roots; but certain of them he ap- 
pointed to serve as food for other creatures. 
There were those again whom he made to have 
few offspring, while those who were constantly 
-exposed to destruction he made to be prolific, 
and so provided for the continuance of the 
race. And in this way it happened that Epi- 
metheus, who was not very wise, had used up 
all the faculties before he knew it. The race of 
men still remained incomplete, and he in de- 
spair knew not what to do. While he was in 
this strait came Prometheus to inspect the dis- 
tribution, and beheld the rest of creation suit- 
ably provided with all necessities, but man still 
naked and helpless, having neither resting-place 
nor means of defence; and yet already the day 


28 


322 


PROTAGORAS. 


appointed was at hand in which man should 
issue forth from earth into the light of day. 
Wherefore Prometheus, in great straits to find 
some way of safety for man,- stole from He- 
phaestus and Athene”? the art of mechanics, to- 
gether with fire, —for without fire it would be 
impossible for men either to acquire or to utilize 
this art, and thus he endowed mortals. In 
this way, then, man became possessed of the 
knowledge necessary to support existence, but 
knowledge of the art political he had none; for 
this Zeus kept in his own dwelling-place, and to 
Prometheus it was not given to penetrate within 
the stronghold, which is the abode of Zeus; 
and, moreover, the guards of Zeus were very 
terrible. But into the workshop where Athene 
and Hephaestus together delight in working, 
he did secretly penetrate, and stealing away from 
Hephaestus the art of fire and also that other 
art which belongs to Athene, he gave them to 
man. From this time forth the means of bodily 
subsistence were possessed by man; but Prome- — 
theus, so they say, was afterwards made to do 
penance for the theft.3° 

Now since man had received a share of the 
good things which fall to the gods, he alone of 
all creatures 3* held the gods in honour, and he 
accordingly took upon himself to set up altars 
and statues to them. And soon he invented 
the art of speech and of calling things by 


PROTAGORAS. abs 


name; and he devised dwellings and clothing 
and shoes and beds and food which the earth 
brings forth. Now in the-beginning, men, thus 
equipped, lived scattered about here and there, 
for they had no cities. And because they had 
altogether less strength than the wild beasts, 
they were constantly destroyed by them; since 
the mechanical arts, although supplying them 
with ample means of subsistence, were insuffi- 
cient for waging war against wild beasts : for the 
art political, to which the art of war belongs, 
they as yet did not possess. They endeavoured, 
therefore, to gather themselves together in one 
place and to gain safety by establishing states; 
but being without the political art, they no 
sooner had come together than they began to 
mishandle one another; and so again they scat- 
tered, and again were exposed to destruction. 
And now Zeus, fearing lest our race should. per— 
-ish utterly, sent Hermes to introduce reverence —, 
and justice among men, to be principles of order 
in states, and bonds whereby men might be 
drawn together in all friendliness). Then Her-— 
mes inquired of Zeus in what way he should be-. 
stow justice and reverence upon men, — whether 
or not these gifts were to be distributed like 
the arts, the upshot of which distribution is 
as follows: one man skilled as a physician 
supplies the wants of many other men, and 
thus also do men skilled in the other profes- 


30 


: 


fiat Moin A AI ho Ct 


PROTAGORAS. 


sions. ‘And shall I, after this fashion, bestow 
justice and reverence upon men, or shall I dis- 
pense them to all alike?’ ‘To all alike,’ was 
the reply of Zeus, ‘that all men may have a 
share in them. For cities could not exist if, 


| like the arts, justice and reverence were shared 


_ by a few only amongst the citizens. And do you 
\establish in my name this law, —that he who is 


incapable of feeling justice and reverence be put 
to death as a pestilence in the state.’”’ 


323-328 [And hence, although the man who pro- 


fesses knowledge of arts which he does not 
follow is treated with contempt, in matters ap- 
pertaining to government every man is listened 
to with respect, as being the possessor-of those 
virtues with which good citizenship is synony- 
mous. Nay, if a man does not really possess 
these virtues he must feign them, since were 
he openly to proclaim such deficiency he would 
be set down as a madman, or at least as unfit to 
dwell amongst his kind. We must not, however, 
fancy that the capacity for being a good citizen 
comes entirely by nature and does not need to 
be cultivated, for in that case it would be as use- 


less and unjust to punish those who fail in this 


duty as to inflict punishment for some physical | 
imperfection. Punishment is no end in itself, | 


neither is it retaliation: a culprit is punished, 


PROTAGORAS. 31 


not that his penalty may atone for his past mis- ~ 


“deeds, but that it may serve as a warning both 


to himself and to others in the future. And if | 
we acknowledge that punishment both prevents | 


evil and counteracts its effects upon the soul, we 
at once admit that virtue can be taught. 

~ As to the statement made by Socrates, that 
good men do not train their sons in this partic- 


ular excellence, it is met by the answer that the | 
whole life of every citizen, from beginning to — 
‘end, is nothing if not an education in virtue; | 


the fact that the sons of good fathers so often 


turn out badly only proving the truth that all” 


men have had an equal chance to attain it. In 
illustration of this, we may suppose it necessary 
to the existence of a state that every member of 
it should be a good flute-player. Were this the 
case, each citizen would doubtless exact a high 
standard in this art from all his fellow-citizens ; 
but the influences brought to bear upon each and 
all of them would be the same, and the son of a 
good flute-player would have no advantage over 
the son of a bad one, since the natural capacity 
of each and this alone would determine his pro- 


ficiency. Even so each citizen in the state is’ 


-self-constituted an educator of the young, from 
whose virtue he himself derives benefit. 
It were nevertheless not undesirable, continues 
Protagoras, to seek some teacher who, more than 
other men, might be capable of promoting a yet 


32 


PROTAGORAS. 


- higher standard of virtue; and here the great. 


Sophist asserts his own pretensions by giving 
himself out to be. such a teacher and as such, 
not unworthy of his hire. He lays, however, no 
obligation upon his disciples to pay more for their 
instruction than in their own opinion it is worth ; 
if his price seems to them too high, they have but | 
to take oath in the temple as to what they would 
consider fair, and with this he will be content. 

Thus Protagoras, as he himself declares, has 
attempted, both by myth and by argument, to 
prove that the Athenians believe virtue capable 
of being taught, and that there is nothing sur- 
prising in the fact that good fathers beget bad 
‘sons, and bad fathers good sons.] 


x 


Having given us this elaborate specimen of 
his art, Protagoras now ceased talking; but so 
long had I been held under his spell, that I still 
continued gazing upon him as if he were about 
to speak further, for I was anxious to lose not 
a word. When I perceived, however, that he 
had really come to an end, with no little diffi- 
culty I gathered myself together, as it were, 
and looking towards Hippocrates said, — 

“What gratitude, son of Apollodorus, do I 
owe you for having urged me to come hither! for 
what I have just heard from Protagoras is worth 
much to me indeed. Hitherto I have supposed 


329 


_ PROTAGORAS. 33 


that the way in which good men attain goodness 
was a thing about which no mere man might 
busy himself; now, however, I am convinced 
of the contrary. There is only one little point 
which is a stumbling-block to me, but doubtless | 
Protagoras will easily explain this away, since he © 
has already explained away so many things. 

Were a man to converse on these subjects 
with any one of our public speakers, he would 
probably hear very much the same words, whether 
from Pericles or from any other of our masters © 
of speech; but let him enquire into any par- 
ticular, and like books they have neither reply 
to give nor question to ask in their turn. If 
inquiry is made about ever so trifling a detail 
in what they have said, then, like some great 
brazen bowl which when it is struck, goes boom- 
ing on and on unless stopped by the touch, so do 
your orators, when questioned about any detail, | 
spin out their talk to endless length. Protag- 
oras here, on the other hand, is able not only 
to make long and flowing speeches, as he has — 
just proved, but is capable when questioned of 
giving a concise answer, or when he himself is 
the questioner, of waiting till he has received 
his answer, —all of which things but few men} 
are qualified todo. Now, then, Protagoras, but 
one little point do I need explained ; if you will 
answer me this, I shall have all I ask for. You 
say that virtue may be taught, and if any man 


_ 


34 


330 


PROTAGORAS. 


could convince me of this, it would be you; 
but pray satisfy my mind in regard to this 
one thing which has puzzled me while you have 
been speaking.” 


[The question which Socrates wishes to have 
answered is whether Protagoras, in speaking as 


he has just done of justice, reverence, and other 


good qualities, regards each of these as a part 
which, although separate and distinct in itself, 
helps to make up virtue as a whole, or whether 
he regards each as but a different name for one 
and the same thing, — virtue itself. 

Protagoras pronounces in favour of the former 
definition, and on being further questioned 


asserts that the several parts of virtue are re- — 
lated to one another, not like the separate parti- © 


cles of gold, each of which differs from the other 
only in point of size, but rather like the separate 
features of a face, each one of which preserves 


its own identity and discharges its own func- | 
tions, and resembles in no respect any other 


feature. 

Hereupon Socrates, supposing some imaginary 
interlocutor to be questioning them in regard ta 
the several natures of these same parts of virtue, 
proceeds with the argument as follows :] 


“ Now if this person, going on with his ques- 


Tee, 


331 


PROTAGORAS. 35 


tions were to ask: ‘What was that you were 


saying a little while ago? Perhaps I did not 
hear you aright, but I thought you said that 
such was the relation of the several parts of 
virtue to each other that no one part was like 
another part’—I should answer: ‘All this 
you did indeed hear aright, but inasmuch as you 


thought it was I who said it, you heard amiss: 


for it was Protagoras here who gave these an- 
swers, I being only the questioner.” And sup- 
posing he then asked you: ‘Protagoras, is he 
speaking the truth? Do you then maintain that 
no part of virtue is like another part? Is this 
really your meaning?’ What should you an- 
swer him?” | 

“T should be obliged, Socrates,” he said, “to 
acknowledge that it is.” 

“ And what, Protagoras, should we answer. 
him if after we had acknowledged this he went 
on further to say: ‘ Then holiness is not like any 
thing that is just, nor justice like any thing that 
is holy, but rather like a thing that is not holy. 
And thus holiness is of a like nature with what 
is not just but unjust, that is to say unholy.’ 
What shall we answer to this? I for my part 
should maintain that justice is holy and holiness 


just, and if you would allow me, I should make 


~ the very same answer in speaking for you, and 


say that justice is either the same as holiness 
or as nearly the same as possible, and that it is 


36 


PROTAGORAS. 


most emphatically true that justice is like holi- 
ness and holiness like justice. But now con- 
sider whether you object to my making this 
answer, or whether you also approve of it.” 

“JT do not feel so sure, Socrates,’ he said, 
“that justice can be granted in this off-hand 
way to be holy, and holiness just, for there 
is, it seems to me, a difference between them. 
But what does this matter? If you wish it, let - 
us assume that justice is holy and holiness 
just.” 

“No indeed,” I said, “it is not any ‘if you 
so wish’ or, ‘if you think best’ that I wish to 
examine, but rather yourself and myself. And 
when I speak of myself and yourself, it is be- 
cause I believe that the argument may best be 
tested if the ‘if’ be left out of it.” 


332-333 [In this dilemma Protagoras states it to be 


his opinion that justice does indeed in a certain 
way resemble holiness, but only as every thing 
bears a certain likeness to every other thing. 
The vagueness of this statement is, however, 
counterbalanced by his subsequent admission 
that every thing has one opposite and one only ; 
this leading to the conclusion that since sound- 
ness of mind and wisdom are alike opposed to 
folly, the two, on the theory of one opposite, 
must of necessity be one and the same thing. 


PROTAGORAS. 37 


Having gained the reluctant assent of Protago- 
ras to this statement, Socrates now calls upon 
him, though as will be seen after a somewhat 
circuitous fashion, to define the position of jus- 
tice, probably with the view of adding this qual- 
ity to the list already begun of the several parts 
which go to make up virtue as a whole. | 


“Come now, Protagoras, let us not grow 
weary of our search, but let us consider well 
what remains. 

Does it seem to you that when a man com- 
mits injustice, he is of sound mind, the fact of 
his having committed it being proof thereof?” 

“J should be ashamed to acknowledge this, 
Socrates,” he answered, “and yet many men do 
say so.” 

“And shall I argue against them,” said I, 
“or against you?”’ 

“Pray argue first,” he said, “if you are 
willing, against the former opinion, — that. held 
by the many.” 

“Tt makes no difference to me, if you will 
only answer whether you hold it or not. For it 
is the opinion itself that I am bent upon testing, 
although it may very likely come about that I 
the questioner, and the answerer also may Bs 
put to the test as well.” 

At first Protagoras seemed to be standing 


38 


334 


PROTAGORAS. 


upon his dignity, and complained that the argu-. 
ment was an uninviting one; at last, however, 
he consented to answer. : 

“Come then,” I said, “answer me from the 
very beginning. Do you believe that when men | 
commit injustice they are of sound mind?” | 

“We will assume that they are,” he said. 

“ And by sound mind you mean good judg- 
ment?” 

Sg Ne 

“And by good judgment the power of right 
deliberation 32?” 

“This we will assume,” he said. 

“How do youmean? When good comes from 
committing the injustice, or harm?” 

“ When good comes.” 

“You admit then that good things do exist?” 

ce hs 

«« And is it such things as are useful to men,” 
I said, “that you call good ?”’ 

“Yes, by Zeus,” he answered, “but even if 
they are not useful to men [I still call them 
good.” | 

Now it appeared to me that Protagoras by 
this time had become troubled and confused ; 
he seemed in his answers to be putting him- 
self on the defensive. And so, perceiving how 
it was with him, I began to be circumspect and 
gently asked : 

“Do you mean, Protagoras, those things which 


PROTAGORAS. 39 


are merely not useful to men, or those which are 
not useful at all? Is it the latter that you call 
good ?”’ 


[Here Protagoras, glad to evade the real point 
in question, launches forth into a wordy ha- 
rangue intended to prove that good things are 
in themselves neither useful nor harmful, but 
vary in usefulness according to their application. ] 


At the close of his speech all the company 
cried out “Well done!” I, however, said :— 

“It so happens, Protagoras, that I am a for-) 
getful man, and if any one talks to me at length, | 
I quite lose track of the subject. Now if I hap- 
pened to be slightly deaf, you would speak louder 
in talking to me than you do to others, and just 
so now, since it is with a forgetful man you are 
talking, you ought to cut down your answers 
and make them shorter, if you wish me to follow 
you.” 

“What do you mean in bidding me shorten 
my answers? Must I give shorter answers than 
are needful?” 

“By no means,” 

“ As long then as are needful?” 

es, 


“ And which ought I, think you, to do; answer 


40 


335 


PROTAGORAS. 


at such length as seems right to myself or to 
you?” 

“Well,” I said, ce] have heard that you are 
able when you wish, both to speak yourself and 
to teach others to speak at such length upon 
a given subject that there seems no end to 
your flow of language, and then at other times 
you speak with such brevity upon this same 
subject that brevity could no farther go, If 
then you intend to converse with me, pray fol- 
low the second method, —that of brevity.” 

“Socrates,” he replied, “against many men ~ 
before now have I entered into a contest of 
words, and had I done this thing you bid me, 
and talked as my opponent bade me talk, I 
should never have shown my superiority, nor 
would the name of Protagoras have become 
known amongst the Greeks.” 

On this, knowing that he himself was not 
at all pleased with his previous answers, and 
that he would not of his own free will go on 
with the argument if he were required to an- 
swer, I thought that my part in the discussion 
was at an end, and so [| said: — 

“T assure you, Protagoras, that I have no 
desire to persist in carrying on this conversa- 
tion against your own wish, but whenever you 
are willing to talk in such a way as I am able to 
follow, then I will talk with you. You indeed, 
as they say of you and as you yourself confess, 


PROTAGORAS. ae 


are able to speak either at length or with 
brevity, for you are an accomplished man; I,\ 
on the contrary, am not able to talk thus at | 
length: I only wish I were. But you who are 
able to do both, ought to adapt yourself to us 
for the sake of keeping up the conversation. As 
you do not, however, see fit to do this, and as I 
am rather pressed for time and should not be 
able to stay and hear you to the end of a long 
_discourse, — for already I ought to be somewhere 
else, —I shall now depart ; and yet from you I 
should not have been at all sorry to have heard 
even a long speech.” 

With this I got up to go away, but as I was 
in the act of rising, Callias seized my hand with 
his right hand, and catching hold of me with 
his left by this cloak of mine, said, ‘“‘ We will not 
let you off, Socrates, for if you go away our 
conversation will take a very different turn. I 
entreat you, therefore, to stay with us, for noth- 
ing in the world would delight me more than to 
hear you and Protagoras talking together. You 
really must give us all this pleasure.” 

By this time I was on my feet and on the 
point of going out, and I replied :— 

“Vou well know, son of Hipponicus, that I 
have always taken delight in your fondness for 
philosophy, which I welcome this opportunity 
to praise and commend, and I should therefore 
be glad to give you pleasure, if what you asked 


42 


336 


PROTAGORAS. 


were possible; but this is just as if you were 
begging me to keep pace with Crison the run- 
ner of Himera, in his prime, or to race with any 
other of the long-course or professional run- 
ners,33 and keep pace with them. I should an- 
swer that I am far more anxious to keep up 
with these runners than you are to have me; 
but indeed I am not able. And so if you wish 
to see Crison and me running together in the 
same race, you must beg him to bring down his 
pace to mine, for although I am not able to 
run fast, he can run slowly. If therefore you 
have set your heart upon hearing Protagoras 
and me, you must beg him to answer me now 
as he answered at first,—in few words and 
keeping to the point. If he does not, what sort — 
of a discussion can we have? To join in argu- 
ment with others is, to my thinking, a very aif) 
ferent matter from making a set speech.” 

“But don’t you see, Socrates,” he exclaimed, 
“that Protagoras is perfectly fair in claiming 
that he should be allowed to speak as he likes, 
and you as you like?” 

Here Alcibiades broke in and said :— 

“You are quite wrong there, Callias. Here! 
Socrates ‘confesses that long-winded speeches) 
are not in his line and that in this respect he is) 
outdone by Protagoras; but in regard to ca- 
pacity for carrying on a discussion, and ability 
to sustain an argument both by talking and by 


PROTAGORAS. 


listening to others, I should be surp he 
came behind any living man. If then Pro- 
tagoras on his side will acknowledge that he 
is inferior to Socrates in argument, Socrates 
will be quite content; if, however, he claims 
superiority in this respect also, let him carry 
on the discussion by means of questions and 
‘answers, and not after each question make a 
long speech, evading the point at issue, and not 
troubling himself to answer, but rambling on 
until most of his hearers have forgotten what 
the argument is about ; although so far as Socra- 
tes is concerned, I answer for him that he will 
not really forget, for all his jesting and calling 
himself forgetful. Let us then, every man of 
us, give his independent vote; mine is that the 
proposition of Socrates is the fairer of the two.” 

After Alcibiades it was, I think, Critias who 
spoke. 

“Tt strikes me, Prodicus and Hippias,” he 
said, “that Callias sides very strongly with 
Protagoras, while Alcibiades as usual is eager 
to win, no matter what the cause into which he 
may throw himself. But as for ourselves, it 
_ certainly does not become us to enter the lists, 
whether on the side of Socrates or of Protago- 
ras, but rather to unite in entreating them 
both not to break off in the midst of the con- 
versation.” 

As he ended, Prodicus began thus :— 


44 PROTAGORAS. 


337. “That is an admirable suggestion of yours, 
Critias, for they who are present at discussions 
such as these ought indeed to give impartial 
attention to both speakers, but not to heed each 
equally. For the two things are not the same; 
we must listen impartially indeed to both speak- 
ers, but not be swayed equally by each, but 
more by the wiser, by the more ignorant the 
less. 

Now for my own part, Protagoras and Soc- 
rates, I think that you ought, both of you, to dis- 
agree amicably over each other's arguments, but 
not wrangle over them ; for friends may disagree 
with friends in all kindness, but only enemies 
and opponents wrangle one with the other. 
Thus would our conversation be most successful, 
for thus would the speakers win most respect, 
not praise, from us the hearers; for respect 
comes from the hearts of the hearers and knows 
no guile, whereas praise in words is often given 
by those who speak against their real opinion, 
with intent to deceive. And then again we, the 
hearers, shall in this way receive most pleasure, 
not enjoyment, for pleasure consists in learning 
and grasping thought through the mind alone, 
whereas enjoyment consists in eating and in 
experiencing other delights through the body-.\) 
alone.” 

These words of Prodicus were favourably re- 
ceived by nearly all present. 


PROTAGORAS. AS 


After Prodicus spoke Hippias the sage. 

“My friends,” he said, ‘all of us here present, 
are, I hold, kinsfolk and relatives and fellow- 
citizens, by nature not by convention and law; 
for likeness of nature makes one thing akin to 
another, whereas law, that tyrant of men, is 


constantly running counter to nature and _ vio- 


lating it.. But for us who understand the nature 


of things, and are wisest amongst the Greeks, 
and as such are here met together in Greece, — 
yes, in this very prytaneium 4 of her wisdom, and 
not only in this city, but in the greatest and most 
honourable house which the city contains, — for 
us, I say, it would be shameful to do dishon- 
our to this high honour and to dispute amongst 
ourselves like the meanest of men. And, there- 
fore, Protagoras and Socrates, I advise, nay I 
entreat you, to give your consent to our acting 


' the part of mediators and leading you both on 


338 


to some common ground; and do not you, Soc- 
rates, on your side, insist upon this chary fashion 
of speech, this extreme brevity, if it be not 
pleasing to Protagoras, but so slacken and loosen 
the reins of the argument that it may come 
before us in a more dignified and seemly aspect ; 
and let not Protagoras on the other hand, crowd- 
ing on all sail and driving before the wind, fly 
into a sea of words, and so lose sight of land; 
but let each one keep to a middle course. So 
do, therefore, and let yourselves be persuaded 


46 


PROTAGORAS. 


to choose some one as manager and umpire and 
presiding officer, who shall see that each of you 
keep the right mean in his discourse.” 

These words found favour with the company, 
all of whom gave signs of approval. Callias 
declared that he would not let me off, and all 
begged that an umpire might be chosen. But 
I said that it would be a shame to choose an 
umpire for the argument. 

“For,” said I, “if the person so chosen were 
to prove inferior to ourselves, it would not be 
right that an inferior man should be set over 
those better than himself; nor if he were on an 
equality would it be right either, for he who is- 
our equal will act like ourselves, so that such a 
choice will prove superfluous. But how if you 
choose one superior to ourselves? In very truth 
I believe it impossible for you to choose a man 
wiser than Protagoras here, and if he whom you 
choose is not really superior to him, but only de- 
clared by you to be so, you are insulting him by 
making choice of an umpire as for some inferior 
man; although so far as I am concerned, it 
would make no difference to me at all. But this 
is what I should like to do, in order that we may 
go on with the conversation and the discussion 
which you desire to hear. If Protagoras is not 
willing to answer he may question, and I will 
answer and will try in so doing to show him 
how I think a person ought to answer when 


PROTAGORAS. 47 


questioned ; and let him pledge his word that 
after I have answered all he wishes to ask, he 
will do the same by me. And if he does not — 
seem disposed to make his answers to the point, 
you and I will together entreat him, as you have 
just entreated me, not to break up our conver- 
sation. And for this no special umpire is 
needed; you shall all be umpires together.” 

All approved of this plan, and Protagoras, 
although exceeding loth, was obliged to prom- 
ise that he would begin by questioning, and that 
when he had had his fill of this he would take 
his turn at answering, and this time do so in 
few words. 


339-347 [Protagoras at once shifts the scene from 
the political arena to that of poetry, the right 
understanding of which, he asserts,.is.the better 
part of education. “He demands an explanation 
of Certain seemingly inconsistent passages in an 
ode of Simonides5 relating to the subject in 
hand, and asks how it is that the poet after 
saying: ‘Hard it truly is fora man to become 
good,” proceeds to disagree with the same senti- 

ment as expressed in the words of Pittacus :% 

_ Hard it is for a man to be good.” 

Staggered by the unexpectedness of the ques- 
tion, “just as if I had been struck by a first-rate 
boxer,” to use his own words, and confused by 


48 


PROTAGORAS. 


the applause with which it is greeted by the 
audience, Socrates turns to Prodicus for support. 
“The art practised by this celebrated teacher 
and his well-known skill,” he asserts, appeal- 
ing alike to the self-love of Prodicus and to his 
passion for fine-drawn verbal distigctions, “are 
both needed to restore the credit of his fel- 
low-countryman, Simonides, whom Protagoras. 
threatens to make an end of. May,not the 
seeming contradictions be accounted for by the 
difference in meaning between the two verbs 
to ‘become’ and to ‘be’; and may not Simon- 
ides have meant to say with Hesiod, ‘The gods 
have appointed that before virtue must go toil: 
or long and steep is the path leading to virtue, 
ut the heights once reached, then that becomes 
asy to acquire which before was hard’ 37?” 

But although Prodicus lends the weight of 
his “inspired wisdom” in support of this view, 
Protagoras scorns to accept it, declaring it to be 
more damaging to the credit of Simonides than 
is the poet’s inconsistency which it attempts to 
explain, since he must be an ignorant man in- 
deed who could say that the hardest of all things 
might ever be acquired with ease. Socrates then 
proffers another explanation which Prodicus, 
always ready to encourage any attempt at defi- 
nition, finds entirely satisfactory. Simonides, 
he maintains, has here used the word “hard” in 
a sense not properly belonging to it,—that of 


PROTAGORAS. 49. 


“evil,” — just as he himself, Socrates, has often 
used the word “dreadful” in an improper sense, 
speaking, it might be, of Protagoras as being a 
“ dreadfully’ wise man... For this bad habit he 
has often in fact been taken to task by Protago- 
ras, who asks how “dreadful” can be used as a 
term of praise, as if it were possible for any 
thing good to be “ dreadful.” 

As Protagoras receives this view with still 
greater contempt than he did the other, Socrates 
confesses that these so-called explanations have 
been ventured upon by Prodicus and himself 
solely with the object of drawing out the argu- 
ments of their adversary. At length it seems 
to dawn upon Prodicus that he too has fallen a 
victim to the irony of Socrates; and, needless 
to say, he allows this statement to pass without 
attempting to disavow it. 

Socrates now gives what he professes to be- 
lieve is the true interpretation of the ode, not 
omitting in the course of this, to bring in his 
favourite doctrine that evil is never voluntarily 
committed. yee : 


The Lacedaemonians, he gravely asserts, have 
ever been at pains to conceal their deep knowl- 
edge of philosophy, lest other nations, discov- 
- ering that their real superiority lies in their 

wisdom, not in their physical strength, should 
begin to imitate them. Their short and pithy 
sayings, the result of the most perfect educa- 


50 


N 


PROTAGORAS. 


tion, have been emulated by the wisest men of 
Greece, as is testified by the two celebrated in- 
scriptions written in the temple of Apollo at 
Delphi, — “ Know thyself,” and “ Nothing in ex- 
cess.” 

Now of this same kind was the saying of 
Pittacus here quoted, —“ Hard it is to be good,” 
and so highly was this saying praised by the 
wise men of his time that Simonides was. sure, 
could he refute it, of gaining a world-wide fame. 
He therefore composed the poem now under 
discussion, with the intention of proving that to 
become good, although hard, is still possible, but 
that the power to remain good belongs to the 
gods alone, and that Pittacus, in holding out a 
possibility of what it is presumption even to 
think of attaining, is practising deception, and 
this in the most important of all subjects, —the 
conduct of life.] ,~ 


“Tt seems to me, Socrates,” said Hippias, 
“that you have explained the ode admirably ; 
but I too have not a bad interpretation of it, 
which, if agreeable to you, I will now set forth.” 

“Yes, Hippias,” said Alcibiades, ‘‘some other 
time, but what Protagoras and Socrates have 
together agreed to do is now in order, —if Pro- 
tagoras wishes to go on questioning, Socrates 


is to answer, or if he prefers answering, Soc- 


rates is to question him.” 


ile 6) 


PROTAGORAS. 51 


“T leave it to Protagoras,” I said, ‘‘to choose 
whichever way is pleasantest to himself, but if 
he is willing, pray let us have done with odes 
and poems, for I should very much like, Pro- 
tagoras, to get to the bottom of the subject 
about which I was asking at first; and this 
talk about poetry seems to me far too like the 
feasts of vulgar and boorish men, who, unable 
through ignorance to entertain each other at 
their carousals by using their own voices in con- 
versation, hire at great expense the voice of 
flutes, which has no place there, and run up the 
price of flute-girls in order to entertain each 
other by means of this voice. But where men 
who are upright and honourable and of liberal 
education feast together, neither flute- nor dan- 
cing-girls nor harpers are to be seen, for these 
men are able to entertain one another without 
the help of foolish talk and childish pastimes, 
but simply by the use of their own voices, talk- 
ing and listening by turns; and this in all cour- 


tesy even when they have taken much wine.3® 


Such entertainments as these, if they be indeed 
composed of men such as most of us give our- 
selves out to be, need not the help of any alien 
voice, nor that of poets either, whom it is not 
possible to question about the meaning of their 
words ; insomuch that of the many who quote 
them in support of what they themselves say, 
some assert that the poets meant this, others 


Neat 


52  PROTAGORAS. 


that, because they are talking about a thing 
which cannot be brought to the test. With 
such entertainments as these they will have 
nothing to do, but they entertain themselves 

348 in their own way, putting one another to the 
test by interchange of their own ideas. These 
rather, it seems to me, are the men whom we 
ought, both you and I, to imitate. Let us leave 
the poets aside, and ourselves originating ideas 
one for the other, let us test the truth and our] 
own selves. If then you still-wish to question, 
I hold myself ready to answer your questions, 
or if you prefer it, do you hold yourself ready to 
answer me, so that we may bring the subject- 
to an end, in the midst of which we came toa 
standstill.” 

This I said and much more of the same kind, 
but still Protagoras would not say decidedly 
which he would do. . Then Alcibiades looking 
at Callias, said: 3 

“Do you think, Callias, that it is fair of Pro- 
tagoras not to be willing to say decidedly 
whether he will answer questions or not? For 
my part I do not think it is. He ought either 
to talk himself, or else declare that he is not 
willing to talk, so that we may at least know 
his mind about it, and Socrates be free to talk 
with some one else, and likewise all the rest 
of us with any we may choose.” 

And Protagoras, put to shame, I thought, by 


of tae 


PROTAGORAS. 53 


these words of Alcibiades, and also because 
Callias, and in fact pretty much every one there, 
was entreating him, reluctantly made up his 
mind to bear his part in the discussion, and bade 
me begin to question, since he was ready to 
answer. 

“Do not imagine, Protagoras,” I then ob- 
served, “that I am holding this argument witk 
you for any other purpose than that of examin- 
ing into certain difficulties which I have always 
felt. Homer is, I think, entirely in the right 
when he says: 


‘ Let two go together, and one understands ere the other,39” | 


for in this sort is every man of us better pro- | 


vided for every work and word and thought. 

But one man alone, ‘eveh well understand- 
ing, must needs straightway go about seeking 
till he find some other man to whom he may | 
unfold his tale and by whom it may be con-— 
firmed. Just so I too am glad to speak out my 
mind, and to you rather than to any one else, 
because I believe that you of all men are best 
qualified for searching into all matters which a 
fair-minded man ought to consider, and especially 
those that concern virtue. For who could do 
this better than you who not only esteem your- 
self to be good and true, as do many other fair- 
minded men not gifted with the power to make 
others like themselves, but are able - besides 


‘ 


54 


349 


PROTAGORAS. : 


being good yourself to make others good also; 
and who have such faith in yourself, that where- 


as other men have concealed this art, you have 
openly proclaimed it before all the Greeks, calling 
yourself a Sophist and giving yourself out as a 
master of the art of education and of virtue, and 
first claiming pay in return for your teaching. 

How then is it possible for us not to call you 
to our aid in the examination of these matters, 
and to question you and take counsel with you? 
I could not do otherwise.” 


350-360 [Returning now to the original question, 


Socrates begs Protagoras to restate his opinion 
in regard to the several parts of virtue. 
Protagoras, although compelled by the pre- 
vious agreement partially to abandon his former 
ground, still clings to the belief that these parts 
are not all alike: good sense, it is true, and wis- 
dom and justice and holiness are pretty much 
one and the same thing, but courage certainly 
stands alone, insomuch that a man may be un- 


just, unholy and ignorant and yet may be cour- 


ageous. But now the concession being granted 
that the courageous man is the confident one, he 
namely who is ready to face dangers shunned 
by others, Socrates forthwith proceeds to en- 
quire what it is that gives confidence, and soon 
ascertains that from knowledge and knowledge 


RE me 


PROTAGORAS. 55 


alone is this quality derived. The diver, the 
horseman, the soldier, any man whose experi- 
ence has taught him a knowledge of what he 
undertakes to perform possesses a confidence 
which can belong to no man who is without 
this knowledge. True some men there are who 
are confident by reason of their very ignorance, 
but this confidence is But of a spurious kind, 
and does not partake of the nature of true 
courage. 

Now the concession granted by Protagoras, — 
that the confidence derived from knowledge is a | 
predicate of courage — contradicts his previous | 
assertion — that courage is compatible with 
ignorance. He has admitted that the wisest are 
the most confident. Since therefore, the most 
confident are the most courageous, wisdom n and 
courageare~proved to be one and the same 
thing. % 

Hereupon Protagoras waives the real-point at 
issue, and calls Socrates to account for pretend- 
ing that the statement which he did make, — 
that the courageous are confident,—is equiva- 
lent to that which was made, not by himself, but 
by Socrates, —that the confident are courageous. 
Nor does he admit that courage and wisdom, or 
knowledge, are proved to be identical. Confi- 
dence, it is true, is begotten of knowledge, ex- 
cept when like an inspiration it comes to us in 
a moment of excitement ; but courage is a gift of 


56 - PROTAGORAS. 


nature and a result of the constant and healthy 
action of the vital forces, and is no more to be 
acquired than is natural strength of body.* 
Unable to prove his point by a fallacy, Socra- 
tes begins an attack from another side. He asks 
whether, like many other men, Protagoras holds 
pleasant things to be bad and good things to be 
painful, or whethe®he is not willing to admit 
that pleasantness should be made the test of 
eee whether, in other words, he does not 
hold pleasure, in itself, to be always a good, 
the reverse being true of evil. This to Pro- 
tagoras is so new a theory, that he is inclined 
to suspect its morality. So far, however, has he 
become a convert to the method of Socrates, 
that of his own accord he proposes to test the 
idea by cross-examination, promising that if 
pleasure and good can be proved to be one and 
the same thing, he will abide by the decision. 
But here, instead of following up the question 
in hand, Socrates makes an apparent digression, 
and requests Protagoras to give his views in 
regard to knowledge. Is it, in his opinion, true 
that if once the power to discriminate between 
good and evil be his, a man will do nothing save 
what is sanctioned by that power? To this Pro- 
tagoras gives a most emphatic assent. And yet, 
urges Socrates, many people assert that men 
know good and ‘still pursue evil, or as they call 
it are overcome by pleasure, and if you deny 


PROTAGORAS. 87 


their assertion they confront you with this ques- 
tion: ‘And if this is not being overcome by 
pleasure, what then do you call it’? Protagoras 
is disposed to treat this question with the same 
contempt which he has before manifested for 
the opinions of the “common people,” but on 
being reminded of his promise to follow wher- 
ever Socrates may lead, he begs that the thread 
of the argument may be again taken up. 
What then, proceeds Socrates, constitutes the 
evil of so-called pleasant things, — such as eat- 
ing, drinking and indulging in other pleasures 
of the senses? Not surely the actual pleasure 
derived from them, —for this in itself is only a 
good, —but rather the sickness and the other 
evils which result from their over-indulgence. 
And what constitutes the good of so-called 
‘painful things, such as training and fighting? 
Evidently not the momentary pain caused by 
‘them, but the high and lasting pleasure which 
they yield. {The standard of pleasure and pain 
is a right standard, but we need some principle 
which may enable us everywhere to recognise 
pleasure and pain in their relative proportions. 
Such a principle is found in the art of measur- 
ing: this alone teaches us that what is wrong- 
| fully called being overcome by pleasure, results 
: simply from inability. to discern good from evil, 
from ignorance of the true nature of pleasure. 
Now applying this test to courage, we shall 


58 PROTAGORAS. 


find that brave men and cowards alike avoid 
what they regard as evil or painful, and alike 
face what they do not fear, the only difference 
being in the object of which they make choice. 
When a brave man, therefore, makes choice of 
what is commonly avoided, it is because he dis- 
cerns in it a future good which more than com- 
pensates for a momentary pain. ] 


_ “For is it not evident,” I said, “that men are 
cowardly by reason of their ignorance of what 
‘is really to be feared?” 
“Most decidedly so,” said Protagoras. 
“And is not this the ignorance which makes . 
cowards of them?” 
He agreed. 
“And do you agree that what makes cowards 
of them is cowardice ?”’ 
He said that he did. | 
“Then ignorance of what are dangers and 
what are not is cowardice?” 
He nodded assent. 
vy “Now surely,” I said, “bravery is the oppo- 
site of cowardice?” 
—..He said it was. 


“And consequently the knowledge of what 
are dangers, and what are not, being opposed 
to ignorance of the same, is courage?” 


361 


- PROTAGORAS. 59 


He no longer even nodded assent, but kept 
his own counsel. 

“How is this, Protagoras, do you answer 
neither yes nor no to my question?” 

“Go on and finish for yourself,” he replied. 

“There is only one question,” I said, “which 
I want to ask, and that is whether you still, as 
at first, hold that men may be supremely igno- 
rant, and at the same time supremely coura- 


geous?” 


“You seem to be bent, Socrates,” he replied, 
“upon my being the answerer. Well then, I 
will satisfy you, and say that after what we have 
admitted this seems to me impossible.” 

“T have had no other motive in asking you 
all these questions,” I said, “than the wish to 
search out what the truth really is concerning 
things that have to do with virtue, and also in 
what virtue itself consists. For I know that 
when this point has been made clear, that other 
question will become quite plain in regard to 
which you and I have each of us spun outa 
long discourse,—I maintaining that virtue is 
not capable of being taught; you that it is. 
And as to the result just reached by the argu- 
ment, I seem to see it stand now in human 
shape before us, denouncing us and laughing 
us to scorn; and could it speak, this is what it 
might say: 

‘You are marvellous men, O Socrates and 


PROTAGORAS. 


Protagoras! You, Socrates, who began by say- 
ing that virtue-may-not be taught, are now eager 
in support of what is directly opposed to this 
opinion, and are striving to show that knowl- 
edge is every thing,—both justice and good 
sense and courage. This certainly is the best 
way to prove that virtue may be taught, since 
were it other than knowledge, as Protagoras un- 
dertook to say was the case, it clearly could not 
be taught, while if on the contrary it is knowl- 
edge pure and simple, as you, Socrates, are 
eager to prove, it would certainly be surprising 
if it might not be taught. 

Protagoras on the other hand, who began by 
taking it for granted that virtue le may b be_ taught, 
now seems eager to prove just t the “contrary, — 
that it is any thing rather than knowledge, in 
which case it would be the thing of all others 
least capable of being taught.’ 7 

And now, Protagoras, that I see how bewil- 
deringly all things have been turned up-side- 
down, I have a great desire that all should 
appear in their true light, and wish that since 
we have gone thus far, we might proceed to the 
question of what virtue really is, and then return 
to the consideration of whether it can be taught 
or not; lest perchance our friend Epimetheus 
use his wiles to baffle us in this our quest, just 
as you say he neglected us in the distribution. 
Now in the myth, Prometheus was far more 


362 


PROTAGORAS. 61 


after my own heart than Epimetheus, and it is 
by his example that I busy myself with all these 
questions, and exercise forethought over my 
whole life; and, as I said in the beginning, with 
you of all men would I most gladly, if you are 
so minded, enter upon this search.” 

And Protagoras said : — 

““T approve your zeal, Socrates, and the re- 
sult which has been reached by the argument. 
I believe that in most respects I am not at all 
a bad man, and certainly I am the least envious 
of human beings. Often in speaking of you to 
others, I have said that of all men with whom 
I have had to do, certainly amongst those of 
your own age, I prize you by far the most 
highly; and I now add that I should not be sur- 
prised if you were one day to take rank, on the 
score of wisdom, amongst men of note. At 
some future time then, if you wish, we will 
treat all these matters at length ; now, however, 
it is time to turn to something else.” 

“Well,” said I, “we must so do if you think 
it best. Indeed, long ago I ought to have been 
where I said I was going, but I staid to oblige 
our excellent friend Callias.” 

Having exchanged these words, we went our 
ways, 3 


THE REPUBLIC. 


TueEsE selections are from Book I, and the first half of Book II., which form what 
may be called the Introduction to the Republic. 


THE REPUBLIC. 


CHIEF CHARACTERS IN THE DIALOGUE. 


SOCRATES. 
GLAUCON, ; 

Young Athenians, sons of ARISTON. 
ADEIMANTUS, 
CEPHALUS, " : p 

Residents in the Peiraeus. 

POLEMARCHUS, sou of Cephalus, 
THRASYMACHUS 0f Chalcedon, a Rhetorician. 


CLEITOPHON, an admirer of Thrasymachus. 


The scene opens toward nightfall in the streets of the Peiraeus, 
and soon changes to the house of Cephalus. 

The dialogue is narrated by Socrates, on the day after it has taken 
place, to Timaeus, Critias, Hermocrates, and one other friend whose 


name is unknown. 


64 


THE REPUBLIC. 


BOOK I. 


327. I went down yesterday to the Peiraeus,* with 
Glaucon the son of Ariston,” to offer my prayers 
to the goddess,*3 and also because I wished to 
see how they would celebrate her festival which 
they were holding for the first time. The pro- 
cession of our own citizens I thought very 
beautiful, nor did the Thracian procession seem 
to me at all inferior. We had offered our pray- 
ers and had our fill of gazing, and were about 
taking our way towards the city, when Polemar- 
chus, the son of Cephalus,** catching sight of us © 
from a distance as we were setting out for home, 
bade his servant run on ahead and beg us to 
wait for him. And the servant said, plucking. 
my mantle from behind, — 

“Polemarchus begs you to wait for him.” 
On this I turned and enquired where his master 
was. 

“‘ He is coming on close behind,” he answered. 
“Only wait a minute.” 


«Certainly we will wait,’’ said Glaucon. 
65 


328 


THE REPUBLIC. 


And shortly after Polemarchus came up, and 
with him Adeimantus, the brother of Glaucon, 
and Niceratus, the son of Nicias,45 and several 
others evidently just from the procession. Pole- 
marchus began thus :— 

“You seem, Socrates,’’ he said, “‘to be setting 
out towards the city, as if you intended to leave 
us.” 

“That is not a bad guess,” I answered. 

“But you see, do you not, how many we 
are?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Well, prove yourselves more than a match 
for us, or else remain here.” 

“ But surely we have still one chance left, — 
we may persuade you that you ought to let us 


x) 


go. 
“And could you persuade us, pray, if we 


would not listen to you?” 

“By no means,” said Glaucon. 

“Well then, hale it for granted that we will 
not listen to you.” | 

“You do not know then,” said Adeimantus, 
“that this evening there is to be a torchlight- 
race on horseback in honour of the Goddess ?”’ 

“On horseback!” I said, “that is something 
new. Are the riders to pass the torches one to 
another from hand to hand while the horses are 
racing,4°— or how do you mean?” 

“Just so,’ said Polemarchus, “and besides 


9) 


THE REPUBLIC. 67 


this, they are to have a night festival which will 

be worth seeing. On rising from supper we 
will go to see this festival, and there we shall 
meet many young men of the place, with whom 
we can converse. So do not persist in going 
away, but stay with us.” 

“Tt looks,” said Glaucon, “as if we should 
have to stay.” 

“If you wish it,” I said, “let us do so by all 
means.” ! 

So we went home with Polemarchus, and 
there we found Lysias and Euthydemus the 
brothers of Polemarchus, and also Thrasyma- 
chus of Chalcedon, and Charmantides of Paea- 
nea, and Cleitophon the son of Aristonymus.47 
And Cephalus the father of Polemarchus,* was 
at home. He struck me as being a very old 
man, for it was a long time since I had seen 
him. He was seated in a chair with a cushion, 
and he wore a wreath, —he happened to have 
been sacrificing in the court.49 We seated our- 
selves near him, as there were a number of 
chairs placed about him in a circle. As soon 
as Cephalus saw me he embraced me and 
said :— 

“You do not often, Socrates, come down to 
us in the Peiraeus; you really ought, though. 
If I, indeed, were still able to walk with ease as 
far as the city, there would be no need of your 
coming here, for we should go to you. But as 


68 


THE REPUBLIC. | 


it is, you must come oftener; for you know very — 
well that the more my capacity for physical, 
enjoyment lessens and fades away, the sions! 
does my desire for conversation and my pleas- | 
ure in it increase. So do not refuse to see a 
great deal of these young men, and to make 


yourself at home with us as with friends and 


329 


near of kin.” 

“Indeed, Cephalys,” I answered, “I delight 
in talking with very old people; for I think we 
ought to enquire of them, as of men who have 
travelled before us on a road over which we. 
ourselves must in all likelihood travel, whether | 
this road is rough and steep, or smooth and 
easy. And from you, since you have now 
arrived at that period which the poets call the 
‘threshold of old age,’5° I would gladly learn 
your opinion, — whether you regard it as a pain- 
ful part of life, or what account you would give | 
of it?” 

“JT will tell you, Socrates,” was his reply, 
“what seems to me the very truth of the mat- 
ter. You must know that we who are of the 
same age often flock together, as the old saying 
goes ;5' and when we have met, most of the com- 
pany give themselves up to lamentations, sigh- 
ing after the enjoyments of youth, and calling 
to mind the pleasures of love and carousals” 
and feasts, and all the rest; and they complain 
bitterly, just as if they had been deprived of 


~, 


THE REPUBLIC. 69 


some very precious thing, and say that whereas | 
they once lived in happiness, they are now not | 
living at all. And some there are who lament | 
over the indignities shown them at home on| 
account of their years; and on this theme again | 
they unite in telling over and over again the | 
tale of the many wrongs which old age has’ 
brought upon them. But it seems to me, Socras 
tes, that they do not lay the blame on the real} 9” 
cause. For if this were the cause, I too should! » yw 
have suffered the same evils by reason of my, ~ 
age, and so also would all the others who have 
reached the same time of life. But I have met 
with many a man who has not had this experi- 
ence, and once, I remember particularly, I hap- 
pened to be in the company of Sophocles the 
poet, when somebody asked him: ‘How is it 
with you, Sophocles, in regard to love? Do 
you still find pleasure in the society of women ?’ 
‘Softly, man,’ was his reply, ‘most gladly have 
I escaped from love as from: some furious and | 
savage master.’ I thought at the time that he 
had made a good answer, and none the less 
do I think so now. For there is no doubt that 
in old age there is _much-peaee~and freedom 
from such things, since then the passions are 
no longer on the stretch, but loosen their hold ; 
and then undoubtedly does the saying of Soph- 
ocles come true,—it is a release from many 
and furious masters. And as to these com- 


70. 


33 


* 


Shi THE REPUBLIC. 


plaints, and those also against the family, there — 


is one only cause for them, and that is not old 
age, Socrates, but the character of the men. 
themselves. If they are equable and contented, 
then old age itself is but a slight burden; but 
if not, to such men, Socrates, old age, and for 
that matter even youth itself, is a hard thing.” 

And I, delighted at hearing him talk thus, 
and wishing him to speak further, said by way 
of urging him on:— 

“IT imagine, Cephalus, that most people when 
you tell them this, will not listen to it; they 
suppose that you take old age easily, by virtue 
not of your character, but of your large posses- 
sions ; for the rich, they say, have a great deal 
to console them.” 

“You are right,” he said. ‘They do not lis- 
ten to it, and what they say has something in 
it, though not so much as they think. For the 
answer still holds true which Themistocles made 
to the citizen of Seriphos,* when taunted by the 
assertion that his reputation was due not to 
himself but to his city. ‘True,’ was his an- 
swer, ‘I should not have become famous as a 
Seriphian, but neither would you as an Athe- 
nian.’ And the same holds good of those who 
are not wealthy and who take old age hard; 
even a reasonable man would not bear old age 
very easily together with poverty, but neither 
would an unreasonable man, though rich, be 
ever contented in his own mind.” 5 


-s 


THE REPUBLIC. 71 


ny 


‘Did you, Cephalus, inherit the bulk of your 
fortune, or did you make it yourself?” 

“Do you mean how much I made myself, 
Socrates?”’ he asked. “Well, in regard to 
money-making, I stand midway between my 
- grandfather and my father ; for my grandfather, 
whose namesake I am, inherited about as much 
property as I now possess and doubled its value 
many times, while my father Lysanias reduced 
it to still less than what it nowis. I shall be 
content if I can leave to my children not less, 
but a trifle more, than I inherited.” 

“T asked the question,” I said, “because it 
‘seemed to me that you did not care overmuch 
for your money; and this is the case, for the © 
most part, with those who have not made it | 
themselves ; while those who have, cling to it 
twice as fondly as do the others. For just - 
as poets love their own poems, and fathers 
their own children, so those who have made 
their own fortune love it as their own work, 
besides valuing it, as the others do, for its uses- 
And these people are hard to get on with, 
because they can find nothing to praise but 
riches.”’ 

“What you say is quite true,” he replied. 

‘“T have no doubt of it,’ I said, “but tell me 
this, — what, to your thinking, is the greatest 
good that has come to you from the possession + 
of a large fortune?” - 


331 


THE REPUBLIC. 


“One,” he answered, “of the reality of whith 
Iam not likely to persuade many. You know 
very well, Socrates, that when a man believes 
himself to be near death, fear and anxiety come 
over him in regard to matters which till now 
have never entered his mind. The tales told 
of life in the world below, setting forth how the 
man who has here lived sinfully must there suf- 
fer punishment, he has always laughed at before, 
but now his soul is tormented lest they be true; 
and whether owing to the weakness of old age, 
or from being already so much nearer to that 
life below, he seems to see it more distinctly. 
Thereupon, filled with apprehension and fear, he 
straightway begins to ponder and to exqmine 
whether he has ever injured any man. And he 
who makes discovery of many wrongs done to 
others in his past life, cannot sleep for fear, 
but is ever starting from his very dreams, as 
frightened children do, and lives a life of evil 
foreboding. But to him who is conscious of 
having done no wrong to others, sweet hope is 
ever present, and she is a good nurse of old age, 
according to Pindar. Beautifully, indeed, Socra- 
tes, does he describe the man who has lived a 
life of justice and piety when he says that 


* Hovering with tender ministrations near, 
Sweet hope shall cherish his old age; 
Mid changing plans unchanged a helmsman sage 
Is hope, through life man’s restless soul to steer.” 54 


THE REPUBLIC. 73 


Marvellously true, indeed, are these words of 
his. This then it is, in respect to which I con- 
sider the possession of riches as of most value, 
not to every man indeed, but to the upright 
man. For if in departing hence we need have 
no fear lest at any time unwittingly we have 
‘lied or deceived, or lest we may be leaving 
behind us sacrifices unpaid to God or debts 
owed to man, it is the possession of riches 
that has in great measure brought this about. 
They have of course many uses besides, but 
weighing one against the other, I should none 
the less, Socrates, set the highest value upon 
this use of riches, at least to a man of sense.” 

“You speak admirably, Cephalus,”’ I said; 
“but as regards justice itself, shall we say that, 


\, 


as you imply, it consists simply in telling the, 
truth, and paying our debts, or is this very , 


action sometimes just and sometimes unjust? 
Take some such case as this: Supposing arms 


~ 


had been entrusted to some one’s keeping by | 


a friend who at that time was in his right mind, 


but who when he asked for them back had lost | 
his senses, surely every one would agree that — 
they ought not to be restored, and that neither © 


in restoring them nor in telling the exact truth 


to a person in that condition, would one be | 


acting the part of a just man.” 
“You are right,” he said. 
“Then this is not the true definition of jus- 


74 | THE REPUBLIC. 


tice, —that a man must speak the truth and 
give back whatever has been entrusted to him.” 

“But indeed it is, Socrates,’ Polemarchus 
here broke in, “that is, if we are to believe 
Simonides.*”’ 

“Well,” said Cephalus, “I will hand over the 
argument to you, for it is time now that I should 
attend to the sacrifices.”’ 

“So then,” I said, ‘you leave Polemarchus 
your heir ?”’ 

“Yes, certainly,” he answered laughing, and 
with that he went off to the sacrifices.55 

“Tell me then,” I said, “you who have fallen 
heir to the argument, what is this saying of 

’ \Simonides about justice, which you think so 


ee * good: hy 


| 


t/ / “That justice consists in restoring to every 
man what belongs to him,” he answered: “And 
in saying this, it seems to me that he was 
right.” 

“Ft46 certainly not easy,’ I said, “to disbe- 
lieve Simonides, for he was a wise and inspired 
man. And you, Polemarchus, probably under- 
stand the meaning of this saying, although I 
confess I do not.” 


332-330 [The heir to the argument soon finds his |, 
inheritance a troublesome one. It is evident : 


* See note 35. 


THE REPUBLIC. 75 


that he has only repeated the maxim of Simoni- 
des from hearsay, without any attempt to grasp 
its meaning. On being shown that to restore to 
every man what belongs to him might be to do 
him not a good turn, but an injury, he readily 
admits that Simonides did not literally mean 


- what belongs to a man, but only what befits him. ; 


This, he confidently asserts, is evil to enemies 
and good to friends. The maxim as thus 
amended is at once put to the test by Socrates 
after his usual fashion. 

There is a fitting time for the exercise of 
every art or vocation. The art of the pilot, for 
example, finds its proper scope at sea, that of 
the physician in time of sickness. Now when 
is the art of justice 5° exercised? Not stopping 
to reflect that the whole field of human action 
is covered by justice, Polemarchus confines i 


to a single department and replies: “In time of 


war.” The rejoinder then follows that just as the, 
pilot’s art is useless on land, and the physiciaa) 
in time of health, so is the just man’s in timg 


of peace. 

Polemarchus now aware that he has made a 
false step, withdraws in. part his limitation, and 
admits that justice applies to commercial trans- 


actions as well; whereupon Socrates points out > 


that whenever money is to be actively employed, 


some expert is consulted, as the horsedealer in . 


buying a horse, or the architect in building a 
ee 


“ oa 
oy 


Ee | ; 


76 


\ 


THE REPUBLIC. 


house, so that only in the keeping of money 
would justice come into play. Thus it would 
appear that in the use of any given thing justice 
is useless, and that where the thing is not to be 
used, and there only, it is useful. 

Justice then is ascertained to be passive in its 
nature. Now he who can best maintain a pas- 
sive or defensive attitude can also best put him- 
self on the offensive; the man most skilful at 
parrying blows is also most expert at dealing 
blows ; and in like manner, the man who is the 
best guardian of an army is also most apt at 
stealing the secrets of an enemy,—din other. 
words the just man, since he is the best guardian, 
is also the best thief. This, a legitimate deduc- 
_tion from the definition of justice as involving 
fate idea of harm to enemies, is the view which 
Homer espouses in awarding the highest praise 
ito the maternal grandfather of Odysseus, on the 

round that he “surpassed all other men in 
thieving and perjury.’ 57 
* Polemarchus, confounded by this unexpected 
conclusion, can only reply that he no longer 
linows what he did mean; but although unable’ 
to prove his assertion, he reiterates that it is the 
part of justice to do good to friends and harm 
to enemies. Recognising, however, the validity 
of the objection made by Socrates that as just 
men are not always good judges of character 
they might choose bad men as friends and good 


THE REPUBLIC. 77 


as enemies, and thus reverse the interpreta- 
tion just given of the saying of Simonides, he 
proposes that henceforth the terms friend 
and enemy shall comprise not those who only} 
seem, but those-who in reality are, good or! 
bad. 

But here comes in the real point at issue— 
_ can it ever be the part of a just _man to injure 
‘any one? Polemarchus promptly meets this 
question with his former assertion that ene- 
mies and all bad men ought to be injured. 
But what effect is produced upon any animal by 
being injured? Is it not the loss or diminution 
of his best characteristics —those essential to 


him as an animal? Andso with men. If you h 
| 


‘injyre a man, you destroy or impair the best 


characteristics essential to him as a human) }- 


. . . . . . 1} 
being, highest amongst which is justice. Now’ 


how can it be possible that a just man should be 
guilty of such an act as this? As impossible as 
that heat should generate cold or moisture dry- 
ness, so far is it from the nature of things that 
the just man should do a harm to any fellow- 
being. Such a supposition is to be combated 
as contrary to the teaching of Simonides or of 
any other sage. Far more probably did it origi- 
nate with some tyrant like Xerxes, who believed 
all things possible to the rich and powerful. But 
since this is not its true definition, how shall we 
define justice ?] 


78 


: 


THE REPUBLIC. 


More than once while we were talking, Thrasy- 
machus had made desperate efforts to force him- 
self into the discussion, but each time he had 
been held in check by the bystanders, who 
wished to hear us out. When, however, after 
my last words we had come to a pause, he could 
contain himself no longer, but gathering him- 
self together, he came down upon us like some 
wild beast about to tear us in pieces. Polemar- 
chus and I both shook with fear as he shouted 
out at us, — . 

“What do you mean, Socrates, by all this 
nonsense? Why are you all such simpletons as 
to give in thus one to the other? If you really 
wish to find out what justice is, do not merely 
ask questions, and then if you get an answer, 
make it your boast to refute it, for you know 
very well that it is easier to ask questions than 
to answer them; but do you yourself answer 
and say what you mean by justice. And take 
care not to tell me that it is duty, or expedi- 
ency, or advantage, or gain, or interest, but tell 
me clearly and precisely what you do mean by 
it, for if you talk such nonsense as that, I will 
not accept it.” 

Now I, on hearing him speak thus, was fright- 
ened out of my wits, and trembled as I looked 
upon him; and I do believe that if I had not 
looked at him before he looked at me, I should 
have been struck dumb.5* But just as he was 


337 


yr OR STAR 


UNIVERSI1 


- ‘ 


I happened to catch his eye first, so that I was 
able to answer, and said tremblingly :— 

“Do not be hard upon us, Thrasymachus, for 
you know very well that if we have erred in con- 
sidering this question, —Polemarchus and I,— 
we have done so unwittingly. You surely can- 
not suppose that while if we were in search of 
money we should never consent, by yielding one 


to the other in the pursuit, to spoil our own . 


chance of finding it, yet now that we are in 
search of justice, a thing of more value than 
much money, we should be foolish enough to 
yield one to the other, and not strive with all 
our might to bring it to the light of day. You 
cannot suppose this, my friend. The trouble is 
that we are incompetent; and so you ought to 
pity our misfortunes rather than get angry with 
us.”’ 

On hearing this he laughed a loud sardonic 
laugh. 

‘By Heracles!” he exclaimed, “here we have 
a specimen of the wonted irony+5? of Socrates, 
and this I knew before and predicted to these 
friends of ours, —that you would never be will- 
ing to give an answer yourself, but would 
always feign ignorance, and do any thing rather 


than answer if you were questioned by any one.’ 


- “You, Thrasymachus,” I replied, “are a wise 
man. You must, therefore, be aware that if, 


80 


THE REPUBLIC. 


after asking some one of what numbers the 
number twelve is composed, you were to add: 
‘But look to it, fellow, and do not tell me that 
twelve is composed of twice six, or of three 
times four, or of six times two, or of four times 
three ; for I will not take any such nonsense as 
that from you,’ no one, as I think you must 
plainly see, could undertake to answer a man 
who put his question in this way. And if he 
rejoined: ‘What do you mean, Thrasymachus ? 
That I must not give any of the answers you 
have mentioned? What! my dear fellow, not 
even if one of them happens to be the right 
answer? Would you have me say any thing but 
the truth? Or what is it you mean?’ What 
answer would you then give him?” 

“Pray go on,” he said. ‘‘ How like that case 
is to this !”’ : 

“T do not see why it is not;” I answered, 
“but however that may be, still if it seems so 
to the person questioned, do you suppose that 
he will be any the less likely to give what seems . 
to him the right answer, whether we forbid him 
or not?” : 

“That means, I suppose,’ said he, “that this 
is what you are about to do, —give one of the 
very answers I have forbidden you to give?” 

“JT should not be surprised,” I answered, “if 
after thinking the matter well over, this should 
seem to me best.” 


338 


THE REPUBLIC. 81 


~ “But how,” he said, “if I were to give you 
an answer on the subject of justice contrary 


to these, and superior to them all? What 


then? What punishment would you then 
deserve ?”’ 

“What other indeed,” I answered, “but that 
which the ignorant person ought to suffer? He 


-ought to learn from him who is wise. And this, | 


in my opinion, is what I deserve to suffer.” 

“That is really very kind of you,” he said, 
“but besides learning you must pay me a fee.” 

“T certainly will when I have the where- 
withal.” | 

“Here you have it,’ said Glaucon. “If it is 
only a question of money, Thrasymachus, say 
on, for we will all pay our share for Socrates.” 

“Of course,’ he said, “in order, I suppose, 
that Socrates may go on as usual, not answering 
himself, but taking up the words of some one 
elsé who has answered, and refuting them.”’ 

“ And how, my good frierd,” I asked, “can 
a man answer, when he neither knows nor) 
pretends that he knows, and is moreover for-. 
bidden, —and this by a man of no small conse- 
quence, —to say a word about his opinion, if 
he happens to have any? All the more then| 
does it behoove you to speak; for you assert} 
that you do know and have something to say.) 
So pray do not think of refusing, but be kind, 
enough to answer me, and not begrudge the 


_ Rene nen s, 


82 


THE REPUBLIC. 


benefit of your knowledge to Glaucon here and 
the others.” 

When I had thus spoken, Glaucon and the 
others begged him by no means to refuse. Now 
Thrasymachus was evidently longing to speak 
in order to get himself praised, for he~made 
sure of having the best answer in the world; 
but he still pretended to be bent upon my being 
the answerer. At last, however, he gave way, 
exclaiming, — 

“This then is what the wisdom of Socrates 
comes to! Not willing himself to impart in- 
struction, he goes about getting it from others, 
and never so much as thanks them for it.” 

“That I learn from others, Thrasymachus,” I 
answered, “you say with truth. But when you 
assert that I do not pay them back in thanks, 
you speak falsely, for I do pay back as much as 
I am able to give; but I can give nothing but 
praise, for money I have not. That I do, how- 
ever, bestow this heartily whenever it seems to 
me that a man speaks well, you shall not be 
long, I promise you, in finding out, if you will 
only answer; for I am confident that you willf 
speak admirably.” | 

“Listen then,” he said; ‘I declare justice to 
be nothing more than the interest of the 
stronger. But why do you not praise me? 


). You are not willing, I see that.” 


“If I can only first understand what you 


THE REPUBLIC. — 83 


mean,’ I said, “for as yet I do not. You 
clare justice to be the interest of the ae | 
but what, Thrasymachus, do you mean by this? 
You surely do not mean any thing like this for 
instance, that because Polydamas@the athlete, 
is stronger than we are, and because eating 
beef is for his interest so far as his body is con-' 
cerned, it is also for our interest who are weaker 
than he, and therefore for us also is just.” 

“That is shameful of you, Socrates,” he said ; 
“you twist my gone in whichever way you 
can do it most damage.” 

“Not at all, my good friend,’ I answered, 
“but pray tell me more plainly what it is you 
mean.” 


339-340 [Hereupon Thrasymachus unfolds the fol- 
lowing theory. The government of a state, 
being that which assumes control in the state, 
enacts such laws as suit its own peculiar form 
and subserve its own interest. Thus a tyranny 
enacts tyrannical, and a democracy democratic 
laws, while by an aristocracy aristocratic laws 
are of course enacted; but of whatever kind 
the laws may be, they constitute justice, and to 
obey them is the duty of the subject. Justice, 
then, and the interest of the stronger turn out 
to be identical. 

With the passing observation that in speak- 


&4 


TH:it REPUBLE.. 


ing of interest, Thrasymachus is using one of 
the recently forbidden terms, Socrates consents — 
to the definition of justice as a certain kind of 
interest or advantage, refusing, however, to 
admit that it is the stronger who always reap 
this advantage. It is, he declares, a fact not to 
be disputed that rulers are capable of error, and 
this being the case, it follows that laws must 
frequently be enacted by them which prove con- 
trary to their own interest. 

Here Thrasymachus yields a ready assent, 
not foreseeing the coming deduction that jus- 
tice, far from always being the interest, is often 
the direct disadvantage of the stronger. The 
unexpectedness of this conclusion reduces him 
to momentary silence, while Polemarchus ex- 
claims with delight, ‘By Zeus, Socrates, that 
is most true!’ ‘That is all very well, if we 
are to have you bear witness for him,’ inter- 
poses Cleitophon. 

‘But where is the need of any witness at all? 
Thrasymachus himself makes the admission.’ 

‘No,’ returns Cleitophon, ‘for by the inter- 
est of the stronger, he meant what the stronger 
believes to be for his interest.’ 

‘That was not what he said,’ Polemarchus 
insists. 

‘Never mind,’ rejoins the peacemaker, Soc- 
rates, ‘if Thrasymachus says it now, we will 
accept it.’ 


341 


rea ears THE REPUBLIC. 8s 


Thrasymachus, however, stoutly disclaims 
any such modification of his previous statement, 
and even retracts the admission he has just 
made as to the fallibility of rulers. Do you 
suppose, he says, that at the very time a man 
is making a mistake, he could be called ‘the 
stronger’? Is the physician, when in the act 
of mistaking the case of a patient, a true physi- 


cian? or the arithmetician, when he errs on a 


point of arithmetic, a true arithmetician? If 
any man makes a mistake in the exercise of his 
art, it is because his art has for the moment 
forsaken him, and he for the moment is inca- 
pable of exercising it. 

And thus, as Thrasymachus triumphantly 
sums up his argument, the ruler who is always 
in the true sense of the word a ruler is_incapa- 
ble of making a mistake, and justice is clearly 
proved to consist in the furthering by the 
weaker of the interest of the stronger. 

The next sentence refers to the complaint, 
made for the second time by Thrasymachus, 
that Socrates is always trying to fasten a libel 
upon him by an intentional misconception of his 
real meaning. | 


“And so, Thrasymachus,” said I, “you regard 
what I have said as a libel upon you?” 
* Most certainly I do,” he answered. 


86 


THE REPUBLIC. 


“You believe then that I have laid a plot to 
damage your argument, and that this is why I 
question you as I have been doing?” 

“‘T know it perfectly well,” he said, “but you 
shall not gain any thing by it; for in all your 
efforts to damage me you shall never find me off 
my guard, nor will you be able to get the better 
of me in open argument either.” 

“T should certainly never attempt this, my © 
good friend,” I said. ‘To make sure, however, 
that nothing of the kind takes place, pray state 
definitely whether when you speak of the man 
whose interest as the stronger it is right for 
the weaker to further, you mean the man who 
might pass for being the ruler and the stronger, 
or the man who is such in the strict sense of 


- the word.” 


‘“‘T mean him who is a ruler in the strictest 
sense of the word,” he answered. ‘Now then, 
do me a mischief, and libel me if you can. I 
will ask no mercy. But you cannot possibly do 
i a 

“Do you think me so mad,’ I said, “that I 
would attempt to shave a lion,® and libel Thrasy- 
machus ?” 

“You tried it, forsooth, just now,” he said, 
“but did not make much of it.” . 
“Enough of this,” I said, “pray answer what 
I am going to ask.” 


THE REPUBLIC. - 87 


342-344 [To the following chain of statements 
Thrasymachus, not suspecting at first the con- 
clusion to which they lead, yields a_ ready 
assent: 

The true physician is no mere money-maker, 
but a ruler, so to speak, over the human body, 
to supply the wants and deficiencies of which 
medicine was invented. . Every created object, 
whether person or thing, being by its very na- 
ture imperfect and incomplete, is dependent 
upon some extraneous art or faculty to bring out 
its distinctive properties. Thus the eye is use- 
less without the faculty of seeing, while for the 
ear, hearing is an equal necessity. An art or 
faculty, on the other hand, being in itself perfect 
and complete, needs not to seek its own inter- 
est, but only that of the object whose needs 
it is intended to supply. In the act of supply- } 
ing those needs it fulfils its own end, and thus\| 
brings about its own perfection. 

Neither of the physician nor of the pilot, 
both of whom consider solely the interest ef 
those under their charge, nor of the horseman, 
who brings out the good qualities of the animal 
under his control, nor indeed of a man who 
rightly exercises any art, can it be said that he 
works in his own interest; and in like manner 
he who exercises the art of government, if he 
indeed be a ruler of men in the same way that 
the physician is a ruler over their bodies. will 


83 


THE REPUBLIC. 


ever seek the advantage of his subjects, not his 
own. ; 
Thrasymachus, ever since the real import of 


these illustrations dawned upon him, has re- 


sponded with increasing reluctance. At this 
juncture he breaks loose from the logical entan- 
glement, and assuming a tone of contemptuous 
bravado, tries to browbeat his adversary. 

He begins by enquiring whether Socrates still 
has a nurse, and to the mild rejoinder that it 
would be better to keep to the point than to 
branch off into such irrelevant questions, he 
insolently remarks that Socrates has need of 
one to stop his drivelling, and to sharpen his 
wits into a better understanding of the well- 
known truth that shepherds tend their flocks 
not for the pleasure of the animals themselves, 
but for their own or their master’s benefit. He 
then proceeds to reinforce his original state- 
ment, that justice is the interest of the stronger, 
by maintaining that it is always the unjust man 
who pushes himself into positions of authority 
and command. The unjust man takes advan- 
tage of the law-abiding propensity which forms 
a part of justice, to force his own will upon 
the just man, who thus becomes a mere tool in 
the hands of selfishness. Justice, therefore, far 
from benefiting those who practise it, actually 
works in the interest of the unjust; the just 
man neglects his private interests in order to 


THE REPUBLIC. 89 


work out the behests of his superior in com- 
mand, while the unjust man gains success and 
consideration at the expense of the just. 

To appreciate the full bearing of the forego- 
ing statements, we have but to consider in what 
esteem is held that archetype of injustice, —the 
tyrant. From every quarter successful injustice 
receives full meed of praise and admiration, or 
if it is ever censured, this is only because men 
fear, not to commit it, but to suffer from it.] 


With this, having like an attendant at the - 
bath deluged our ears with a plenteous and un- 
broken stream of words, Thrasymachus had a 
mind to go away. The rest of the company, 
however, would not allow this, but compelled 
him to remain and make good his argument. I 
myself also earnestly entreated him, saying :— 
“Can you have the heart, my excellent Thrasy- 
machus, after springing such a proposition as 
this upon us, to go away before you have fully 
expounded it, or understood whether it be really 
true or not? Do you then regard what you are 
undertaking to define as asmall matter, and not 
rather as the very way of right living, by walk- 
ing in which every one of us may live his life to - 
the best advantage ?”’ 

“T regard the matter quite differently,” Thrasy 
machus answered. 


345 


THE REPUBLIC. 


“Tt would so appear,’ I answered. “Certainly 
you seem not to be at all concerned for us, nor 
to care whether, from our ignorance of what 
you profess to know, we are to lead.a better or 
a worse life. Come, my good friend, do your 
best to explain yourself. There are so many of 
us, that you will be none the worse for doing us 
this kindness. I, for my part, tell you plainly 
that I do not agree with you, nor can I believe 
that injustice is more advantageous than justice, 
even if one has perfect liberty to exercise it and 
is not prevented from doing whatever one may 
wish. Yes, my friend, let the unjust man have 
full power to commit injustice, whether in secret 
or by open warfare, all the same you will not 
convince me that there is more to be gained by 
it than by justice; and perhaps I am not the 
only one here who thinks so. Convince us then, 
my good fellow, if you can, that we are not in 
the right when we place justice so far above 
injustice.” 

“And how,” he said, “shall: I convince 
you? If you are not convinced by what I 
have just said, what is left for me to do? 
Shall I drive the argument into your soul by 
force?” | 

“Not so, by Zeus,” I answered. ‘ But when/ 
you say a thing, stand -by it; or if you must 
needs change, do so openly and do not try to’ 
cheat us.” : 


345-347 [The above injunction is not uncalled for. 


The last statement of Thrasymachus contradicts 
his previous admission, — that all men who exer- 
cise an art seek the good of others, not their 
own, —and thus confounds the shepherd with the 
mercenary dealer, whose sole object is to make 
a good bargain, or with the feaster, who tends 
the sheep solely with a view to some future 
banquet. 

Socrates now enquires whether, in the opinion 
of Thrasymachus, the true ruler finds his pleasure 
in ruling. 

Upon receiving an eager assent, he goes on to 
ask why then a salary is necessary as an induce- 
ment to rule. Surely the explanation lies in the 
fact that no benefit accrues to the ruler from 
the exercise of his office. In this as in every 
other art, the subject, not the ruler, is bene- 
fited. | 

Now the result brought about by each art is 
peculiar to that art, and has no connection with 
any other. The result aimed at by the physi- 
cian is to restore health, that by the pilot to 
ensure safety at sea. If in process of exer- 
cising his art the pilot improves in health, the 
art of seamanship must not on this account be 
confounded with that of medicine. And if the 
physician is paid a salary in return for his 
services, his own art, which seeks a totally differ- 
ent result, must not, simply on account of this 


all 


THE REPUBLIC. or 


Vo 


92 


THE REPUBLIC. 


transaction, be confounded with that of the con- 


tract-maker or the payer of salaries, which bene- 
fits him only in common with many others. 

Now to induce men to accept offices of state 
three kinds of rewards are offered, — money, 
honours, or some penalty for refusing to govern.] 


“What do you mean, Socrates, by this?” said 
Glaucon. ‘I know about the first two kinds 
of rewards, but what you mean by this penalty 
which you say is in some sort a reward, I do 
not understand.” 

“Is it possible,” I said, “that you do not 
understand what the reward is which appeals 
to the best men, for the sake of which alone 
those who are most worthy hold office when they 
consent to do so at all? Do you not know, then, 
that the love of honour, and that of riches as - 
well, is considered to be, and in reality is, a mat- 
ter of reproach ?” 

“T do,” he answered. 

“This is the very reason,” I said, “that neither 
money nor honour can arouse in good men a 
desire to govern. They are neither willing to 
receive pay for governing and get the name of 
hireling, nor are they willing, by secretly mak- 
ing profits out of their office, to get the name 
of thief; nor again will they consent to govern 
for the sake of honours, for they are not ambi- 


THE REPUBLIC. be 93 


tious: so that it is necessary to lay some stress 
or penalty upon them, if they are ever to be 
induced to take office. And this I imagine is 
the reason why to enter public life voluntarily, 
and not rather to hold back until stress has 
been laid upon one, is accounted dishonour- 
able. Now the greatest of all penalties which; 
can be inflicted upon a man who will not himself. 
consent to take office, is that of being governed | 
by a man worse than himself, and it is the fear 
of this I think that induces honourable men) 
to govern, whenever they do govern; and even’ 
then, they enter upon office regarding it not as a 
good thing, nor expecting to get pleasure from 
it, but rather as a thing to be accepted from 
necessity, and from lack of men better, or even 
as good as themselves, to whom the office might 
be entrusted. If there did anywhere exist a 
city of good men, ‘then would men probably vie 
with each other not to govern, just as they now 
do to govern; for then it would be clearly seen 
that it is the nature of the true ruler to consider 
not his own interest but that of his subjects; 
and every one who knew this would choose 
to be benefited by his neighbour rather than to 
put himself out to benefit him.” © 


348-350 [Setting aside just here the definition of 
justice, Socrates proposes to take up the state- 


| 


THE REPUBLIC. 


ment of Thrasymachus in regard to the advan- 
tages of the unjust over the just life. Instead 
of opposing to the tirade of Thrasymachus in 
defence of injustice, one equally long on the 


other side, he proposes to use in the discussion 


the more informal process of question and an- 
swer. As this proposition meets with general 
approval, Socrates sets about obtaining from 
Thrasymachus a more detailed account of his 
theory. He starts with the supposition that 
even Thrasymachus must admit justice to bea 
virtue and injustice to be a vice; but this is by 
no means granted by the champion of injustice, 
who exclaims: ‘That is very likely, my simple- 
minded friend, seeing that I declare injustice to 
be advantageous and justice not. ... No in- 
deed, it is exactly the reverse.’ ‘What!’ ex- 
claims Socrates, ‘Is justice a vice?’ ‘Not 
exactly that, but it is folly pure and simple.’ 
‘Then do you call injustice vice?’ ‘Not at 
all. JI call it prudence.’ ‘And do you hold 
unjust men to be wise and good?’ ‘I do, that 
is, all who are perfect in injustice.” 

This audacious statement Socrates confesses 
himself at a loss to answer. Had injustice been 
simply proclaimed a source of profit to those by 
whom it is not shunned as a shameful vice, this 
proposition could have been met as it has often 
been met before. But in declaring injustice to 
be synonymous with wisdom and virtue, we are 


THE REPUBLIC. 95 


at the same time declaring it to be powerful and 
noble, and ascribing to it all the other attributes 
which we are wont to ascribe to justice. But 
although this proposition is difficult to deal with 
Socrates is ready to attempt the task, since 
Thrasymachus doubtless has the matter as much 
at heart as he himself has. Blurting out the 
rude rejoinder that it is no one’s’ business 
whether he has the matter at heart or not, 
Thrasymachus defies his adversary to refute the 
proposition, and Socrates loses no time in taking 
up the incautious challenge. He obtains without 
difficulty the admission, that while just men try 
to gain an advantage over the unjust only and 
not over other just men, the unjust seek the 
discomfiture of just and unjust alike. He then 
points out that the skilful practitioner, in what 
profession soever, since he wishes to further the 
advancement of his art, tries to gain advantage, 
not over fellow-labourers equally skilled with 
himself, but over the ignorant and the unskilled 5 
while the latter, on the other hand, look to their | 
own interest alone, and try to defraud not only 
their superiors, but their fellows in ignorance. 
With great reluctance Thrasymachus acknowl- 
edges the truth of these statements, from which 
there is but a step to the admission that while 
the just man is identical with the skilful and the 
wise practitioner, the unjust and the unskilful 
must be classed in one category. | Biges 


96 


THE REPUBLIC. 


-Thrasymachus admitted all this, not with 


readiness, however, as I am now speaking; only ~ 


with the greatest difficulty were his words 
drawn out of him, and, it being summer-time, 
he sweated most amazingly. And then I sawa 
sight that I had never seen before — Thrasy- 
machus blushing. And now having come to 
the agreement that justice was virtue and 
wisdom, and injustice wickedness and igno- 
rance, — 


“Tet us,’ I said, “leave this point at rest . 


and proceed. Besides this we said that injus- 
tice was strong; do you not remember that, 
Thrasymachus ?”’ 

““T remember,” he said, “but I am not satis- 
fied with what you have just said, and I myself 
have something to say on the subject. If I 
were to speak, however, I know very well that 


you would say I was making an _harangue. ~ 


Either let me, therefore, speak as much 4s I 
choose, or if you prefer to ask questions, ask 
them, and I will encourage you to go on by 
nodding and shaking my head, as we do to old 
women when they tell their stories.” 

“On no account,” said I, “unless you really 
agree with me.” 

“T might as well please you,” he said, “since 
you will not let me talk. What more can you 
ask?” 

“Nothing at all, by Zeus,’ I said. “If you 


ae. 


THE REPUBLIC. 97 


are willing to do this, pray do it; I then will 
question you.” 


351-354 [Thrasymachus proves to be better than 
his word, for he answers, to quote the commen- 
dation of Socrates, ‘most excellently well.’ In 
the absence, therefore, of any further opposition, 
the following result is soon reached : 

Justice must ever be the guiding principle 
of every society, whether state or army, band of 
free-booters or gang of thieves; for no society 
can attain strength, unless its members seek to 
benefit not injure one another; and thus a state 
under the rule of injustice is < necessity a weak’ 
state. Nor does injustice further the interests 
of the individual to a greater extent. .If he bex 
not at one with himself, he becomes a prey to 
the contending emotions which arise in his own 
soul, as dissensions arise in a state, and soon 
finds himself powerless to act, like a state in a 
similar condition. If such a state or such an in- 
dividual be found to succeed in any enterprise, 
it can only be by reason of some trace or rem- 
nant of justice which prevents entire incapacity 
for action. And not only does injustice render: 
a man thus inefficient in action, but it makes 
him also the enemy of all just men, and above 

all of the gods, whose friends are the just alone. 

‘Well, feast and make merry over your argu- 


98 


ee 


THE REPUBLIC. 


ment,’ is the rejoinder of Thrasymachus. ‘I am 
not going to gainsay you, for fear of making 
myself disagreeable to our friends here.’ ‘Go 
on, then,’ Socrates says, ‘and fill my cup to 
the brim, by continuing to answer me as you 
are now doing.’ He then proceeds to consider 
whether the life of the just man is in reality the 
pleasanter and the happier because of his jus- 
tice. The fact that the just man is in himself 
wiser and better and more able than the unjust 
man has been amply proved, but this other ques- 
tion, so intimately bearing upon the way our 
own lives ought to be led, is one not lightly to 
be passed over. 

Every object, whether living or inanimate, 
was, we find, created in order to bring about its 
own peculiar end, which end is compassed only 
by means of some virtue peculiar to itself. Now 
justice is the virtue of the soul, by which it is 
enabled to compass the end peculiar to itself, — 
that of exercising not only judgment, oversight 
and will, but every-other function which right 
living includes Thus none but the just ma 
can live rightly, and since he only who lives 
rightly can lead a life of happiness, and since to, 
be happy profits a man more than to be unhappy, 
it follows that justice, not injustice, is profit- 
able. . 

Thrasymachus, no longer attempting any show 
of resistance, exclaims :] 


THE REPUBLIC. 99 


“With this, Socrates, you may regale yourself 
at the Bendidea.*” 

“Tt is you I have to thank for it, Thrasy- 
machus,” I replied, “‘inasmuch as you have be- 
come gentle with me, and no longer treat me 
harshly. Nevertheless I have not feasted well, 
but this is my own fault, not yours. For it 
seems to me that I have behaved just as glut- 
tons do who, when anew dish is brought in, 
snatch eagerly at it and taste of it before they 
have properly enjoyed what came before. So I, 
before discovering the thing we began by 
searching for, namely, the definition of justice, 
have abandoned the quest, and plunged into the 
examination of whether it was vice and igno- 
rance, or wisdom and virtue; and afterwards, 
when the question came up whether or not in- 
justice were preferable to justice, I could not 
prevent myself from turning to this point and 
dropping the other, and so I now find that I 
have learned nothing from our conversation. 
For since I do not know what justice is, I can 
hardly know if it be really a virtue or not, and 
whether he who possesses it is happy or not 


happy.” 
* See note 43. 


BOOK II. 


* 357 Now I, in saying this, thought I had got clear 
ee of the discussion, but, as it soon appeared, all 
‘ that had gone before was only a preamble; for 
Glaucon, who in every encounter is always the 
boldest of men, not satisfied with the surrender 

; of Thrasymachus, said :— 

“Socrates, which do you wish, to appear to 
have convinced us, or to convince us in good 

| . earnest, that in every way it is better to be just. 
than unjust ?” 

“Tf it were a question of choice,” I said, “I 
should certainly prefer to convince you in good 
earnest.” . , 

“Then,” said he, ‘you are not doing what you 
wish. Tell me now, do’you think there is such 
a thing as a good which we might desire to pos- 
sess, not because of the things that result from 
it, but because we love it for its own sake, such 
for instance as pure enjoyment and all pleasures 
which are blameless and have no after-results, 
but consist in the pure enjoyment ri from 


‘\them at the time?” 
100 


358 


as this.” ¥ 
“ Now then, is there any thing which we lo I ie 
both for its own sake and also for the sake ~™ 
of the things that result from it, as thought, 
instance, and sight and health ? We may yl 


ways.” 
“Yes,” I answered. ue 7 
“ And do you recognise a third kind of Be 
which includes gymnastic training, and the treat- 
ment and care of the sick, and the art of heal- ~« 
ing, and the different ways of money-making? | 
For these we might say involve hardship, and- 
yet they are for our advantage; and these we 


might desire to possess, not for their own sake, 


but for the sake of the rewards or whatever else , 
results from them.” 

“Yes,” I said, “there is certainly this kind 
also. But what then?” 7 

“Under which head,” he asked, “do you | 
place justice?” 

“In my opinion,” I answered, “it belongs to 
the highest kind, where the man who is in 
search of happiness should love it both for its 
own sake and also for its results.” 

“But most people,” he said, “do not take 
this view. They think it belongs to the kind 


which should be cultivated indeed for the sake 


of what are comntonly held as honours and re- 


102 


THE REPUBLIC. 


wards, but which in itself should be avoided on 
account of the hardship it involves.” 

“T know,” said I, “that this is the view they 
take, and. this is what Thrasymachus also had 
in mind when, a while ago, he was abusing jus- 
tice. But I am afraid I must be very stupid, 
for I cannot understand this view.” 

“Come then,” he said, “listen to what I too 
have to say, and see if you can agree with me. 
For Thrasymachus seems to me, like a snake, 
to have been charmed by your words far sooner 
than he ought; but as for me, neither the ex- 
planation of justice nor that of injustice is yet 
to my mind. What I long to do is to say good- 
bye to rewards and to every thing that yrows 
out of rewards, and to learn in what justice 
and injustice each by itself consists, and what 
inherent power each has by its own presence in 
the soul. This then I will do, if you think well 
of it. I will renew the, argument of Thrasy- 
machus, and in the first place I will state what 
justice is said to be, and whence it is said to 
have sprung; in the second place, I will show 
that ‘all who practise it do so unwillingly, regard- 
ing it as a necessity, not as a good; and in the 
third place, that they are justified in so doing, 
since the life of the unjust man is far better 
than that of the just,—so they say. “Now you. 
know, Socrates, that I, for my part, do not be- 
lieve this at all; but my ears have been so deaf-_ 


: 
- 


THE REPUBLIC. 103 


ened by listening to Thrasymachus and hosts 
of others, that I am at a loss what to think; and 
the opposite proposition, that justice is better 
than injustice, I have never heard any one main- 
tain as I could wish; for what I wish is to hear 
it praised for itself alone. Now you, I believe, 
are the man from whom I am most likely to hear 
this, and so IJ shall do my utmost to speak in 
praise of the unjust life, and by so doing I shall 
be showing you how I wish to hear you blame 
injustice and praise justice. Consider, then, 
whether you agree to what I propose.” 

“T should like it of all things,” I said, “for 
what is there about which a man of sense could 
prefer to speak or to hear, rather than about 
this ?” 


| 359-360 [To commit injustice, says Glaucon, in 


a. 


the character of its eulogist, is undoubtedly 
pleasant ; but to suffer from it is so much the 
reverse, that men soon learn the expediency of 
coming to some agreement for mutual protec- 
tion. Such, then, is the origin of justice, —it 
is a compromise between the state most to be 
desired, freedom to commit injustice with impu- 
nity, and that most tobe avoided, enforced sub- 


* mission to wrongs without power of retaliation ; 


and this is a compromise to which no man in 
his senses would submit were the case not one. 
of necessity. 


104 


THE REPUBLIC. 


In illustration of one form of injustice, Glau- 
con relates the story of Gyges, the ancestor of 
Croesus. Gyges, a shepherd and hireling of the 
king of Lydia, was one day tending his flock, 
when a great storm arose, and an earthquake © 


rent the ground, opening a chasm almost un- 


derneath his feet. Down this he found his 
way, and beheld, amidst many wonders there - 


‘below, a great brazen horse, containing a dead 


body of more than human size, which had upon 
its handaring. This, placing it upon his own 
finger, Gyges took away with him, and wore at 
the next monthly assembly of the shepherds, 
when they met to take the tale of their flocks, — 
Chancing to turn the signet of the ring towards 
the inside of his hand, he immediately became 
invisible, as to his amazement he learned, on 
hearing his fellow shepherds speak of him as 
if he were not present. He then made further 
trial of the ring, always with the same result. 
On this he contrived to get himself sent to 
court as bearer of the shepherds’ count. No 
sooner had he arrived there than he began to 
plot with the queen, and finally, by help of the 
magic ring, he slew the king and reigned in his 
stead. 

Now if a ring like this were bestowed upon a 
just, and another upon an unjust man, it is evi- 
dent that both men would take the course 
prompted by self-interest ; for no one is of stuff 


THE REPUBLIC. 105 


so adamantine that he would keep his hands 
from his neighbour’s goods, had he the power of 
taking them without being seen; and did such 
a man exist, although the fear aroused by this 
god-like attribute might induce his fellows to 
praise his conduct to his face, he would be 
accounted by all the most despicable of fools. 

Glaucon now closes his defence of injustice 
with the following sketch of the contrasted lives 
of the just and the unjust man. |] 


“Now in passing judgment upon the two 
forms of life. in question, we must set up the 
perfection of justice, and over against it the per- 
fection of injustice; for in this way we shall be 
able to judge aright, otherwise not. What then, 
you will ask, is this contrast which you think of 
setting up? Let metell you. We will take away 
from the unjust man nothing that belongs to in- 
justice, and from the just, nothing that belongs 
to justice; each we will make perfect for his own 
career. In the,first place, then, let the unjust 
man act as all men do who are skilled in any 
vocation. Just as the skilful pilot or the phy- 
siclan recognises at once the impossibilities 
and the possibilities of his art, and puts his 
hand to some things, while others he leaves 
undone, and even if he does make a mistake is 
still able to set it right, so let the unjust man 


106 


/ 


THE REPUBLIC. 


who is to have success in putting his hand to 
unjust deeds, keep under cover if he wishes to 
attain the height of injustice. The man who 
allows himself to be found out must be set down 
as nothing better than a bungler; the height of 
injustice being to appear just when one is not 
just. To the perfectly unjust man, then, must 
be allotted the most perfect injustice; nothing 
must be taken away; his greatest acts of injus- 
tice must be the very means of winning him the 
greatest reputation for justice. If he makes 
any mistake, he must have the power of setting 
it right again, using his gift of persuasion in 
case any of his evil deeds come to light, and 
resorting to violence where violence is called 
for, by dint of sheer audacity and brute strength 
as well as by the help of friends and money. 
Having then made him out to be such a man 
as this, let our argument produce and place by 
his side the just man, the man who is single- 
hearted and noble, the man who, according to 


{ Aeschylus, is resolved not to seem but to be 


good.* Take away all seeming; for if he seem 
to be just, gifts and honours will accrue to him — 
as so seeming, and then it will become uncertain 
whether he is just for the sake of justice itself, 
or for the sake of the gifts and honours. Strip 
him, therefore, of every thing save justice; put 
him in a plight which is the exact reverse of the 


* See note 63. 


a se eS 
mri) 


362 


THE REPUBLIC. 107 


unjust man’s condition. Unjust in no respect, 
let him have the greatest reputation for in- 
justice, that thus his justice may be put to the 
test, whether it be so firm that evil repute with 
all its consequences may not undermine and 
make an end of it. Let him continue thus stead- 
fast unto death, seeming his whole life through 
to be unjust though in reality just, and when 
both men shall have reached the highest point, 
the one of justice, the other of injustice, then 
let judgment be passed which of the two is the 
happier.” ® 

“Really, my dear Glaucon,” I said, “you are 
polishing up each of these men in order to pre- 
sent them to judgment, as vigorously as if they 
were a couple of statues!”’ 

“J do it as best I can,” he answered, “and 
now that we have the two before us as they 
really are, it will be no difficult task to go on and 
give in detail the sort of life which is in store 
for each one of the two. It must needs be told; 
and if it sound too brutal, do not think of it, 
Socrates, as coming from me, but from those 
who laud injustice above justice.» This, then, is 
what they will say,—that the just man, being 
such as I have described, will be scourged, put 
to torture, bound in irons, have his eyes burned 
out, and that finally, after he has suffered all 
manner of evil, he will be impaled; and then 
shall he know that not to be, but to seem just is 


108 


THE REPUBLIC. 


what one ought to wish. And they wil say that 
far more truly of the unjust man than of the 
just may the words of Aeschylus be spoken; 
since it is in fact the unjust man, who, pursu- . 
ing such things as serve some real end and — 
not living for a mere idea, is resolved not to 
appear but to be unjust, — 

‘Garnering from the deep-spread plough-land of his 

mind, 

Harvests rich in wholesome wisdom’s ripened fruit. 63’ 
In the first place, to the man who appears to be 
just it is given to bear rule; then he may marry 
as he wishes and may give his children in mar- 
riage to whom he sees fit; or he may make con- 
tracts and have dealings with any one he 
chooses: and in all these transactions he reaps 
advantage from not letting injustice stand in the 
way. In entering upon any contests, whether 
private or public, he gets the better of his ene- 
mies and takes advantage of them, and by thus 
taking advantage he becomes rich, and so does 
good to his friends and harm to his enemies; 
and moreover he is able to make grand and 
magnificent offerings and sacrifices to the gods. 
And both to the gods and to any man whom 
he may wish to benefit, he can render services 
far greater than can the just man; so that he 
must in all probability be dearer also to the 
gods than is the just man. In such wise, Socra-. 
tes, do they speak who say that in the sight of 


THE REPUBLIC. 109 


gods, and of men also, the life of the unjust is 
far better than that of the just.” 

eNow that Glaucon had finished speaking I 
was intending to say something in reply, when 
his brother Adeimantus began thus, — 

“Does it seem to you, Socrates, that enough 
has been said on this side of the argument ?”’ 

“Why, what else is there to say?’ I an- 
swered. 

“The very thing,” said he, “which is best 
worth the saying.” 

“You know the proverb,” I said, “‘Call ina 
man’s brother to help him.’ So do you now 
come to your brother’s rescue if he stand in 

- need of help; although I must confess that the 
words he has spoken are quite sufficient to 
throw me, and unfit me for giving any help 
to the cause of justice.” 

“That is all nonsense,” he said, “but now 
hear what I too have to say.” 


"363-366 [With the object of laying more stress 
upen the argument of Glaucon, Adeimantus 
proceeds to give what he calls its converse side, 
—namely, the point of view taken by those who 

| profess to be on the side of justice. All parents 
; and instructors, he says, enjoin the practice of 
virtue not for its own sake, but for the sake 
of the very benefits pronounced by Glaucon to 


THE REPUBLIC. — 


be the portion of the unjust man who passes for 
just. They sum up all the good things which 
the gods shower down upon generation .after 
generation of just men; and in this they are 
seconded by the poets, some of whom have: fol- 
lowed the just man’s fortunes even into the 
world below, and have shown him to us seated 
at the banquets of the blest in a perpetual state 
of drunkenness, as if forsooth that were the best 
reward of virtue. 

As for the unjust man, it is said that not only 
in the other world does he meet with the reward 
of his wickedness, but that while yet on earth 
he suffers the evils which Glaucon has described 
as falling to the lot of the just man who passes 
for unjust. 

But all this talk is far from representing the 
commonly received belief. Even those who are 
loudest in their praise of justice secretly believe 
that injustice.is in reality more profitable, and 
they pay honour to the wealth and power which 
so frequently go with it, while they despise the 
weak and helpless condition of the just man who 
lives in poverty. Indeed, the gods themselves 
would seem to smile upon the unjust; at least 
if we may trust the report of the soothsayers 
who go about promising to secure their favour 
and good will by means of certain costly propitia- 
tory rites and ceremonies, to the non-perform- 
ance of which direful penalties are attached. 


HE REPUBLIC. Ii! 


What effect does all this produce upon the 
young ? Does it not lead them to believe that 
since the semblance of justice is all that is need- 
_ ful, to this semblance alone they will turn their 
attention, and spare themselves the trouble of 
practising justice? And if it be urged that it 
is impossible to conceal our injustice from the 
gods, it may be answered that it is not certain 
whether there are any gods at all, and if there 
are, whether they take thought of men; or 
again, as has just been said, their displeasure 
may be averted by means of propitiatory gifts, 
and we may still enjoy the advantages of injus- 
tice without losing the favour of the higher 
powers. | 


‘Now at the bottom of all this, Socrates, is 
- the very thing which started our discussion with 
you, I mean my brother’s and my own, and this, 
my dear friend it is, —that of all those amongst 
us whom you name as praising justice, begin- 
ning with those heroes of old of whom traditions 
remain and coming down to men of our own 
day, not one has ever blamed injustice or praised 
justice, except for the glories and honours and 
gifts which result from them. No one has ever, 
either in poetry or in common speech, adequately 
followed up the idea of the two principles, and, 
dwelling upon the inherent power exerted by 


367 


THE REPUBLIC. 


each of them in the soul, albeit unknown to 
gods and men, proved that of all evils which 
a soul may harbour injustice is the greatest, 
and: that justice is the greatest good. If from 
the beginning all of you had proclaimed this 
doctrine and from our youth up had persuaded 
us of its truth, we should have no need to be 
on the watch for the misdeeds of our neigh- ° 
bours, for each man would stand watchman 
over himself, lest if he commit injustice he 
may be harbouring as a familiar friend the 
greatest of evils. Thrasymachus, and perhaps 
others, would very likely say all this, Socrates, 
and more too, in regard to justice and injustice, 
reversing thereby their very natures} out. of 
mere ignorance I suppose. But for my own 
part, I do not care to conceal from you that it is 
because of my anxiety to hear you take the 
opposite side that I have brought every thing 
within my» power to bear upon what I have 
been saying. Do not then prove by words alone 
that justice is better than injustice, but show 


what work each, and each by itself alone, effects 


through its presence in the soul, which proves 
the one to be an evil, the other a good. As for 
seeming, let that, as Glaucon bade, be put out 
of the question. For if you do not strip each 
one of its true external attributes and invest it 
with spurious ones, we shall say that you are 
praising not justice but the semblance of it, and 


THE REPUBLIC. 113 


again that you are blaming not injustice but only 
the semblance of that, and that you are exhort- 
ing us to be unjust indeed, but to conceal it, 
and are admitting with Thrasymachus that 
justice is a good which belongs to another man, 
being the interest of the stronger, while injus- 
tice is the interest and advantage of the same 
man, being at the same time the disadvantage 
of the weaker. But now you have admitted that 
justice is one of those greatest goods, worthy 
indeed to be prized for the sake of what results 
from them, but even more for their own sakes, 
—such as sight, hearing, thought, and health, 
you remember, —all goods in fact which are 
genuinely good in their own nature and not in 
mere seeming. And therefore you are bound 
to praise justice, for the reason that it bene- 
fits him who possesses it in its very eSsence, 
just as injustice does him harm, Let others 
praise rewards and honours; I could bear to 
hear injustice thus praised and justice blamed 
by men who glorify honours and rewards: and 
heap reproaches upon their opposites, but I 
could not bear it from you unless you yourself 
bade me, because your whole life through you 
have been intent upon this thing and this alone. 
Do not then prove to us by words only, that 
justice is better than injustice, but show what 
work each, and each by itself alone, effects 
through its presence in the soul, whether hidden 


114 


368 


THE REPUBLIC. 


or not to gods and to men, which proves the one 
to be a good, the other an evil.” 

On hearing this, I who have always admired 
the natural gifts of Glaucon and Adeimantus, 
was more than ever delighted with them, and 
said : — | 

“Sons of that man so well known to us all, 
well do you deserve the opening lines of the 
Elegiacs ® written in your honour by the ad- 
mirer of Glaucon, where in speaking of the 
glory you won for yourselves at the battle of 
Megara,” he calls you 


{*God-like heirs of a hero illustrious, sons of Aristo.’ \ 


I, for my part, my dear friends, think this epithet 
well deserved, for god-like indeed has been your 
behaviour if, not believing injustice to be better 
than justice, you are yet capable of making such 
a plea for it. Not fora moment do I suppose 
that you really do believe this. The whole bent 
of your character is proof positive of the con- 
trary; although I must confess that if I judged 
from your own words, I could put no faith in you 
at all. But the greater my faith is in you, the 
more am I at a loss what tosay. Jam at my 
wits’ end to find an answer, for I feel myself 
utterly incompetent. And there is reason for 
my feeling thus, since what I thought I had 
entirely proved in my talk with Thrasymachus, 
namely, that justice is better than injustice, you 


THE REPUBLIC. — 115 


seem not to have accepted at all. But on the 
other hand, I must not refuse to give what 
answer I can; for I fear it may be an impious 
act for a man who happens to be present when 
justice is evil entreated, to yield to weariness and 
not come to her rescue so long as he has breath 
and power of utterance. And therefore, it is 
best for me to do all in my power to help her.” 

On this, Glaucon and the others besought me 
by all means to lend my aid and not let the 
discussion drop, but closely to examine what 
both justice and injustice really are, and where 
the truth lies as to their relative advantages. 
I then told them that in my opinion the search 
we were undertaking was no easy one, and called 
for good eyesight. 

“And since we,” I said, “are not clear sighted, 
it seems to me that we ought to make our search 
just as people would do who had defective eyes, 
and were bidden to read small letters from a 
distance. If one of them suddenly remembered 
that the same letters were elsewhere to be 
found written upon a larger page and in larger 
characters, they would deem it a godsend if 
they might first read the larger letters, and then 
examine the smaller ones, always supposing the 
two to be alike.” 

“Doubtless,” said Adeimantus, “but what 
_ resemblance, Socrates, do you see between this 
and the search for justice?” 


116 


369 


THE REPUBLIC. 


“T will tell you,” I answered. ‘We speak of 
justice, do we not, as existing in the individual? 
I suppose, however, that it exists likewise in 
the whole state?” . 

“Certainly,” was his reply. 

“And the state is larger than the individual, 
is it not?” 

“Tt is larger,” he said. 

“Then we may assume that justice in the 
larger thing would be on a larger scale, and 
hence more easily seen. If you therefore ap- 
prove, we will first make our search for it as it 
exists in the state, and afterwards come to the 
examination of it in the individual, looking for 
the likeness of the larger in the image of the 
smaller.” 

“This seems to me an excellent idea of yours,” 
he said. 

“And supposing we were to picture to our- 
selves a state during its growth, should we not 
behold also the growth of justice and injustice?” 

““T suppose we should.” 

“Then when it is once grown, is there not 
reason to expect that we shall more ey | find 
what we are in coabte GE?” 

“ Much reason.” 

“What say you, then? Shall we attempt to 
go through to the end? It will be no slight 
task, I believe; so reflect well.” 

“T have reflected,’ said Adeimantus, “ pray 
go on.” 


THE REPUBLIC. 117 


[With this proposal to construct a state, which 
when described proves to be an ideal common- 
wealth, ends what may be termed the Prelude - 
of the “Republic.” The keynote has been 
struck which, through the ensuing and con- 
stantly changing modulations, ever and anon 
makes itself heard, until in the story of Er the 
Armenian and the revelation made to him of 
_ the future life, we are again brought back to 
the original theme, and find full satisfaction 
in the truth that for every man, “whether he 
be dead or yet alive, justice is the better 
choice.’’} 


ee 


NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 


NOTE I, p. 3. 


Every Athenian youth at the age of eighteen was enrolled 
upon the list of citizens, and admitted to the rights and duties 
of manhood. 

NOTE 2, p. 3. 


This passage occurs in the description of Hermes, when he 
meets Odysseus and gives him the charmed herb “moly” as a 
protection from the wiles of Circe : — 

“ But while through the glorious woodland I wended my way, 

Ere I reached the wide dwelling of Circe, in simples well versed, 

As I took my way thither, a wand in his hand, made of gold, 

There encountered me Hermes: a stripling with beard of first growth 

Even such did he seem, for a youth with most charm then is graced.” 

— Odyssey, X., 275 ff. 

By this allusion to the youth of Alcibiades, Plato seems to 
suggest that the dialogue took place in the year 433 B.C., when 
Alcibiades was eighteen years old. But no date can be as- 
signed which does not involve grave chronological inaccuracies, 


> 


since it is impossible that all the characters should havg ap- 


peared together at the respective ages here ascribed to them. 


NOTE 3, p. 4. 
- ABDERA was a Greek colony in Thrace, which, although the 
Lirthplace of the philosophers Protagoras, Democritus, and 
Leucippus, of the historian Hecataeus, and of other noted 


men, was proverbial for the dulness of its inhabitants. Thus 
121 


122 NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 


Cicero, in one of his letters, characterises a foolish proposition 
which he has rejected, as “ worthy of Abdera.” — Ad Ait. vii- vii. 


NOTE 4, p. 4. 

PROTAGORAS is said to have begun life as a porter. By 
assiduous study, however, he made up for the deficiencies of 
his earlier years, and came to be esteemed the most learned 
of his contemporaries, who nicknamed him “ Wisdom.” His 
celebrated doctrine, —‘‘ Man is the measure of all things; of 
things that are, that they exist, and of things that are not, that 
they do not exist,” is explained by Plato (7hee/¢etus, 161 C) as 
meaning that all knowledge is derived through the senses only. 
Unlike many of his contemporaries, he looked upon his duties 
as a teacher in an earnest light, and was fearless in the ex- 
pression of his opinions (see Protagoras, 316 E-317 B). He 
did not hesitate to declare: — “Concerning the gods, whether 
they are or are not, I know nothing: the shortness of life, the 
difficulty of the subject, and many other things render such 
knowledge impossible ;” and this bold assertion, it is said, led 
to his arraignment as an atheist, when without awaiting the 
result of the trial he fled to Sicily, and was, so the story runs, 
drowned on the passage, at the age of seventy. 

Protagoras was the first philosopher who took pay for his 
instruction, his fee amounting in some cases to one hundred 
mine (more than eighteen hundred dollars). His example was 
followed by his contemporaries; and on this account they 
were censured by Socrates as “barterers of their manhood, 
through the necessity under which they lay themselves to hold 
discourse at the will of any from whom they receive pay.” — 
XEN. Mem. |. ii. 6. 

NOTE 5, p. 5 

Of the subsequent career of HIPPOCRATES nothing is 
known, nor do we.find his brother PHAson elsewhere men- 
tioned. Their father Apollodorus, well known as an ardent 
admirer of Socrates, is mentioned in the AZPology (38 B) as 


dz 


NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 123 


one of the four who offered security for the fine proposed by 
Socrates for himself, and is described in the death-scene of 
the Ph@edo (117 D) as giving way to the most passionate grief. 


NoTE 6, p. 5. 


OENOE was situated on the border of Beeotia, which frontier, 
as nearest to Athens, the slave would naturally have attempted 
to reach. ’ 

NOTE 7, p. 7. 

CALLIAS belonged to an ancient and honoured family, in 
which the office of herald at the Eleusinian mysteries was 
hereditary. To this office, in the particular branch of the 
family to which Callias belonged, was added that of torch- 
bearer in the same mysteries, as well as that of Spartan proxe- 
nus at Athens, —an office roughly corresponding to our consul. 
Members of the family of Callias, moreover, had not unfre- 
quently been sent upon embassies to the neighbouring states; 
and probably for this reason rather than from any merit of his 
own Callias was three times chosen to head a delegation to 
Sparta. His passion for surrounding himself with all the 
celebrities of the day was doubtless one cause of his rapid 
dissipation of the large fortune left him by his frugal father; 
for, as we learn in the Afology (20.A), “he spent more money 
upon the Sophists than all other men put together.” 


NOTE 8, p. 7. 

The celebrated physician H1ppocrATEs of Cos belonged to 
the Asclepiade, a family in which the practice of medicine was 
hereditary, and which boasted descent from Asclepios, the god 
of medicine, the Roman Aesculapius. As a reward for having 
delivered Athens from a pestilence he was presented with a 
golden crown and admitted to the rights of citizenship. So 
wide became his renown that he was bidden to the Court of 
Persia, by Artaxerxes: he refused however to obey the sum- 
mons, on the plea that he owed his services to his own country, 
and not to any foreign land. 


124 NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 


NOTE 9, p. 8. 


POLYCLEITUS was particularly celebratea for his figures of 
athletes, and is ranked in Xenophon’s Memorabilia (1. iv.3) as 
highest among sculptors, as Homer is among epic poets, and 
Sophocles among dramatists. 

PHEIDIAS was entrusted by Pericles with the charge of beau- 
tifying the public buildings of Athens, and the cessation of this 
work was not the least of the evils consequent upon Pericles’ 
loss of favour with the people. Failing to convict Pheidias 
upon the ground of having misappropriated public moneys, his 
enemies finally succeeded in having him banished from Athens 
on the charge of impiety, because he had presumed to carve his 
own likeness and that of Pericles upon the shield of Athene, a 
colossal statue made by him, to adorn the Parthenon. Pheidias 
then took up his abode at Elis, where his first work was a 
statue of Olympian Zeus. This he vowed should surpass the 
Athene in beauty; and so well did he keep his promise that 
in token of their gratitude, so Pausanias tells us, the people 
of Elis appointed his family to be perpetual guardians of the 
statue. From the allusion here made to Pheidias, we may pre- 
sume that at this time he was still alive. | 


NOTE I0, p. 14. 


Like many of the other Sophists, H1ppras travelled through- 
out Greece, where he taught and lectured with a view to acquir- 
ing fortune as well as fame. He was'wont to maintain that virtue 
consisted in being independent in all things, and he asserted his 
own claim to its possession, by pretending to universal knowl- 
edge. At one of the Olympian festivals he boasted that he 
was master of every art, mechanical as well as liberal, stating 
in proof of this, that every article he wore was the work of his 
own hands (Hippias Minor, 368 B-C). He was noted for 
his memory, and it is said could remember fifty names after 
hearing them once repeated. The authenticity of the two Pla- 
tonic dialogues which bear his name is disputed, but the same 


Ok - Ae €. NF Se 
act bs cen ee a 


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.— 2 “a » 


‘ 


NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 125 


traits of superficiality and self-importance which characterise 
the Hippias of the Profagoras are there displayed: witness the 
passage whére he excuses himself for not coming oftener to 
Athens, on the plea that “ When Elis has business to negotiate 
with any of the cities, 1 am always the one chosen from among 
her citizens to be chief ambassador; for it is held that I am 
the one best fitted to be judge and envoy in such negotiations 
as are customary between one city and another.” — HzpZzas 
Major, 281 A. o 

PRODICUS made his first appearance in Athens at the head 
of an embassy. In this capacity he displayed such powers of 
oratory that he excited great admiration among the Athenians, 
and, finding himself much in request, remained and taught in 
their midst, enjoying the friendship of the most distinguished 
men of the day. In such high esteem were his lectures held, 
that Xenophon, when in prison, is said to have obtained bail 
for the express purpose of hearing one of them; and “ Wiser 
than Prodicus ” became a proverb to express the unattainable. 
His strong point was the use of synonymes,—a study which 
was a matter of mere guess-work, when etymology as then was 
yet in its infancy: hence his speculations in the Protagoras 
are not unnaturally turned into ridicule by Socrates, who 
speaks, however, of having attended his single-drachma read- 
ing, referring to the fifty-drachma lecture, which ‘professed to 
be a “complete education in grammar and language,” as be- 
yond his means. —[Plato, Cratylus, 384 B.] The allusion to 
his voice, the “deep tones” of which awakened an echo in the 
room, may be intended as a reflection upon the well-known 
harshness of its quality; while in the description given of | 
him as still in bed, and wrapped in many coverings, we may 
see a reference to his weak state of health. What we know 
of Prodicus inclines us to believe that, if not the wisest, he 
was the best of the Sophists. The summary of his excellent 
fable of the Choice of Heracles,to be found in Xenophon’s 
Memorabilia (11. i. 21), is all that has come down to us of his 
writings. 


126 NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 


NOTE II, p. 15. 


The house of a well-to-do Athenian like Callias was divided 
into the men’s quarters (azdronitis), where is laid the scene of 
the Protagoras, and those devoted to the women (gunatkunt 
tis), the two being separated by a strongly bolted door. Each 
of these divisions was composed of various apartments, all open- 
ing upon an uncovered court surrounded by arcades, which, 
upon the side nearest the entrance, and perhaps also upon that 
opposite to it, formed a species of portico. 


NOTE 12, p. 15. 


XANTHIPPUS and PARALUS bore, during their short lives, the 
unenviable nickname of “ Boobies.” They were half-brothers 
of Callias, he being the son of their mother by her former 
marriage with Hipponicus. 

CHARMIDES, upon the death of his father Glaucon, became 
the ward of his cousin Critias. That Charmides was most 
carefully educated is a point to be remembered in favour of his 
much condemned guardian. He is represented by Plato, whose 
uncle he was, and also by Xenophon, as equally charming in 
appearance and in disposition, and is said to have been some- 
thing of a poet withal. In the I/emoradilia (111. vi. 2) a con- 
versation between him and Socrates is- recorded, in which the 
latter asks Charmides, who has pleaded bashfulness as an 
excuse for not entering public life, whether a man endowed 
with such capacity for playing a useful part there has the right 
to withhold his services from the state. These exhortations 
seem to have been unfortunate in their effect. Charmides 
afterwards. became one of the board of Ten in the Peirzus, 
appointed during the bloodthirsty rule of the Thirty Tyrants, 
and fell by the side of Critias in the encounter with Thrasybulus 
and the returning democrats. 

Nothing is known of the other two personages here intro- 
duced. 


NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 127 


NOTE 13, p. 16. 
** Uplifting mine eyes I beheld mighty Heracles next, 
His image, I say; for himsclf midst the gods that are deathless 
Takes joyance and feasts.” 
« — Odyssey, xi., 601-603. 
NOTE 14, p. 16. 

ERYXIMACHUS, like his father Acumenus, was a learned and 
respected physician, as well as a natural philosopher. 

For PHAEDRUS Plato had a peculiar fondness, as is shown in 
the dialogue which bears this name. Although we are told that — 
he was a great reader and lover of literature, nothing is known 
of the writings of Phaedrus. He seems to have attached value 
to the medical advice of Acumenus, the father of Eryximachus 
his intimate friend, as we gather from the opening of the 
dialogue just mentioned (227 A), where Socrates falls in with 
him as he is on his way to take a walk outside the wall, because 
Acumenus has advised his exercising in the country, ~ 

Of ANDRON no mention is elsewhere found. 


NOTE I5, p. 16. 


** And Tantalus, too, I descried, by fierce torments possessed, 
Who stood amidst waters uplifting, that reached to his chin, — 
Stood panting with thirst ; yet vainly to quench it he sought: 
For eager to drink, whene’er the old man bent him down, 

So often the water would vanish and sink, round his feet 


The black earth appear ; for a god made it dry.’? 
— Odyssey, xi., 582-88, 


| NOTE 16, p. 16. 

In order to protect the household supplies ‘from thieving 
slaves, it was customary to connect all the store-rooms with the 
women’s apartments; but the thrifty Hipponicus seems to have 
required extra room to hold his stores, and thus to have re 
served for them an additional place in the men’s quarters. 


NOTE 17, p. 16. 


Attica was subdivided into demes, which corresponded roughly 
to our townships, or to the wards of our cities. 


128 NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 


NOTE 18, ig & 


PAUSANIAS is chiefly known: as having been the lifelong 
friend of the “fair Agathon.” 

AGATHON’s reputation for extreme beauty is said to have ren- 
dered him somewhat vain and foppish. He afterwards attained 
distinction as a writer of tragedies, certain fragments from 
which are preserved by Aristotle. He aimed chiefly at novelty, 
adorning his works with the figures and embellishments then in 
vogue, and was ranked as the best of the second-rate tragic 
poets. It was upon the occasion of receiving a prize for his 
first tragedy, that he gave the banquet, the conversation at 
which forms the subject of Plato’s Symposium. 

Of ADEIMANTUS the son of Cepis nothing is known, but 
the other ADEIMANTUS is supposed to be the same who was 


implicated with Alcibiades in the profanation of the mysteries. . 


He was one of the oligarchical faction, and was accounted by 
Aristophanes one of the most dangerous men in Athens. In 
the Peloponnesian war he proved himself a successful strategist. 
Taken prisoner after the disaster of Aegospotami, he alone of 
all the Athenians was set at liberty by Lysander, —in reward 
for an act of treachery. 


NOTE 19, p. 18. 


In the charming youth described in Plato’s dialogues, as well 


as in the Memorabilia of Xenophon, we fail to recognise the 


future traitor ALCIBIADES; nor is it less difficult to trace in 
his friend, the devotee of philosophy and literature, any likeness 
to the merciless CRITIAS, so soon to become the most hated of 
men. The accusation brought against Socrates as a corrupter 
of youth was partially founded upon the fact that both these 
men had been his disciples. The charge is disproved by 
Xenophon, who insists that as long as they remained with 
Socrates both practised self-control, because he had taught 
them to believe that this was right. We are told, however, 
that as soon as they imagined themselves to have acquired that 


ARs 
-_ . 


NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 129 


mental superiority over the rulers in the state which it had been 
their object to attain, they no longer went with Socrates; for 
they were “by nature the most ambitious of all the Athenians, 
and their desire was that every thing should be brought about 
through them, and they themselves become the most noted of 
men.” “tis my belief,” continues Xenophon, “that had a god 
given them the choice, whether they would prefer to live their 
whole life through as they saw Socrates live or to die, that they 
would have chosen rather to die.” — XEN. Mem. I. ii. 14-18. 


NOTE 20, p. 19. 


Protagoras asserts that the ethical side of philosophy — the 
task of “educating men’’—constitutes the art of sophistry, 
and attempts to prove that former teachers of morality had 
escaped unpopularity only by professing openly some other art, 
which served as a disguise. As to the illustrations he uses, 
and how convincing they may have been, our scanty knowledge 
concerning them forbids us to form any judgment. 

HOMER Rated: it is true, especially in the Odyssey, taking ad- 
vantage of the rapt attention lént by his auditors to his vivid 
narrative, inculcates the performance of certain moral duties; 
while HeEstop also, in his Works and Days, enforces the ob- 
servance of the rules of right living. But what has come down 
to us of the poems of ORPHEUS and MUSAEUS is of too frag- 
mentary a nature and of too doubtful authenticity to enable us 
to decide whether or not the mystic teachings of these legen- 
dary poets were symbolic of practical truths and precepts. 

It was probablv because Iccus of Tarentum was a reputed 
follower ofthe Pythagorean school that he is given a place 
upon this list. A victorin the Olympic games, he gained the 
reputation — perhaps the one most coveted by the Greeks—of 
being the best gymnast of his time. He taught that gymnastic 
training induced temperance, which virtue he himself practised 
to such an extent that the “dinner of Iccus”’ became a pro- 
verbial saying. 

No trace can be discovered of the ethical teachings of 


130 NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 


Heropicus. He is chiefly known as the instructor of the cele- 
brated Hippocrates in the art of medicine. Himself in delicate 
health, his whole attention was devoted to the hygienic side of 
eymnastics; namely, the systematic observance of the rules 
of health and the regimen and care of the body. Plato throws 
ridicule upon him for having originated the “present fashion 
of cultivating diseases,” and declares that although by the 
help of science he arrived at old age, the struggle against death 
was nothing but a process of torture (Republic, 406 A-B). 

Of AGATHOCLES we only know that he was the teacher of 
the celebrated musician Damon. PYTHOCLEIDES, as well as 
this same Damon, was supposed to have used the art he pro- 
fessed, merely as a screen for the political instruction which he 
wished to disseminate. 


NOTE 21, p. 21. 


The celebrated painter ZEUXIPPUS is more generally known 
as Zeuxis, an abbreviation of the longer name. 


NOTE 22, p. 22. 


The Thebans were regarded as the best flute-players in 

Greece. | 
NOTE 23, p. 24. 

Under the name of PRYTANES, the ten groups, each of fifty 
senators, representing severally the ten Athenian tribes in the 
senate of five hundred at Athens, took turns in presiding over 
the senate, and assuming general direction of affairs. 


NOTE 24, p. 24. 


The following passage from the A/emorabilia is a caricature 
of the popular notion so distasteful to Socrates, that ignorance 
of Statesmanship need be no bar to success in public life. 
After giving a parody of the maiden speech in the popular 
assembly, which was to be expected from a certain Euthyde- 
mus, a youth wise in his own conceit, and anxious to avoid the 


NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 131 


reputation of having “learned any thing from anybody,” Soc: 
rates imagines this same youth to have turned physician, and 
to be applying the self-same principles to his new art after the 
following fashion :~“* Never, men of Athens,” he boasts, “have 
I learned the art of medicine from any man, nor have I sought 
to have any of the physicians as my teacher; for, my whole life 
through, I have been on my guard, not only against learning 
any thing from the physicians, but against even appearing to 
have learned this art. Nevertheless, appoint me to be your 
physician; and I will do my best to learn by experimenting 
upon you.” — XEN. Jem. IV. ii. 5. . 


NOTE 25, p. 24. 


To account for this identification of politics with virtue, we 
must remember that to the Greek the art of politics comprised 
all excellence. To him the state was the moral and religious 
law in one, a community in good living, its end being the full 
and harmonious development of human nature in the citizen; 
or, in other words, the unimpeded activity of his moral and 
intellectual power to work,—of his “excellence” or virtue. 
For if we examine the virtues in the exercise of which this 
“good living ” consists, we shall find that they all imply social 
relations, and that thus the individual who realises his chief 
good or happiness is necessarily a citizen, — what is meant by 
citizenship being, not the mere possession of civil rights, but 
the becoming a part of the state, the living its life. Thus, 
ruling and being ruled, a man exercises not only the virtues of 


obedience, not only the common moral virtues, but also the 


excellences of moral wisdom and command: his life is pre- 
eminently one of virtue. See “ Hedlenica,” Essay on Aristotle's - 
Conception of the State, by A. C. Bradley, M.A. 


NOTE 26, p. 24. 


The allusion is to the sacred flocks, who, being dedicated to 
the gods, were exempted from work and allowed to range at will 


132 NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 


-in what may be called the “glebe” or land belonging to the 
temple. This notion was familiar to the Greeks from Homer’s 
description of the catastrophe which Odysseus’ men brought 
about by their impious slaughter of the sacred sheep and cattle 
of the sun (Odyssey, xii. 127-141). Herodotus also (ix. 93), in 
speaking of the Corinthian colony Apollonia in Epirus, says, 
“In this town there are likewise herds of cattle sacred to 
Helios. In the daytime they feed by the side of the river. 
. . . During the night men who are elected from amongst the 
citizens as conspicuous for their wealth and lineage take turns 
in watching over them, each one for a year’s length.” 


NOTE 27, p. 25. 


ALCIBIADES and CLEINIAS were distant cousins of Pericles 
and his brother Ariphron. Alcibiades, in one of the two dia- 
logues bearing his name, which are somewhat doubtfully attrib- 
uted to Plato, remarks that the ill-success of Pericles in the 
education of his sons and Cleinias does not detract from his 
wisdom; for the former were born simpletons, and the latter 
was-a madman, which epithet is explained by one of the scholi- 
asts as meaning that Cleinias was too obstinate to take any 
one’s advice. 


NOTE 28, p. 26. 


The history to be related is foreshadowed in the names of 
these Titan brothers, the significations of which are Forethought 
and A fterthought. 

NOTE 29, p. 28. 

It is hardly necessary to state that the Latin divinities corre- 
sponding to this god and goddess are Vulcan and Minerva, 
and that Hermes, who appears in the latter part of the myth, 
is the Roman Mercury. With the change of name which 
followed upon the transplanting of Greek divinities to Roman 
soil, a corresponding transformation was brought about in their 
character. If we would see them divested of the Roman mask 


NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 133 


under which they have too long been travestied, and assume 
again their Greek features, the old names must be restored 
under which they were called into existence by the Hellenes, 
that pliant and mobile race, the creations of whose graceful 
fancy the unimaginative Romans could but imitate, and, in so 
doing, vulgarise. (See preface to Les Deux Masques, by Paul 
de Saint Victor.) 


NOTE 30, p. 28. 


In Hesiod’s version of this story (Zheogony, 534-537), PRo- 
METHEUS is punished, — 
‘¢ Because he had striven in counsel with Zeus the almighty, 
And practised deception against the dread son of old Cronos,” 
the deception consisting, not in any benefactions wrought for 
mankind, but . the unequal division, at a sacrifice, of a 
‘slaughtered ox.’ 3 


His punishment is described as follows :— 
‘6 Prometheus the wily he punished with bondage most grievous, 
And fast to a pillar in strong-riven bonds him enchained ; 
And he sent forth an eagle upon him with pinions wide spreading, 
To prey on his liver forever renewed for the feeding ; 
Since what by the broad-winged bird every day was consumed 
Grew again, by each night for each morrow made good and restored.” 
— Hes. Theogony, 521-525. 
Aeschylus gives no special prominence to the deceit of 
Prometheus, but represents him as a martyr in the cause 
of man, of whom Zeus, as he bitterly complains, — 
“‘ Took no heed, but purposed utterly 
To crush their race and plant another new ; 
And, I excepted, none dared cross his will; 
But I did dare, and mortal man I freed 
From passing thunderstricken on to Hades’ depths ; 
And therefore am I bound beneath these woes 
Dreadful to suffer, pitiable to see: 
And I, who in my pity thought of men 
More than myse’f, have not been worthy deemed 
To gain like favour; but all ruthlessly 
I thus am chained, foul shame this sight to Zeus.” 
—-Prom. vinct. 239-249. [Piumptre’s translation. 


« 


134 NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 


‘NOTE 31, p. 28. 
The clause ‘on account of his kinship with the gods’ which 
occurs here in the Greek MSS. so mars the sense of this pas- 
sage that some of the editors suppose it to be by a later hand 
and enclose it in brackets. Accordingly in this translation it 
has not been retained. 


NOTE 32, p. 38. 

The authenticity of the additional clause ‘as is proved by 
their committing injustice’ which occurs in the text has also 
been questioned, and it is here omitted as interfering with the 
connection of thought. 


NOTE 33, p. 42. 

The length of the “long course,” from the starting-point to 
the farther goal and back, was twenty-four s¢adza (about three 
miles). 

That the professional runners who were employed for special 
emergencies were trained to wonderful speed is shown by the 
story of the Plataean Euchidas, who, on being sent after the 
battle of Salamis to fetch fire from Apollo’s altar, made in one 
day the distance between Plataea and Delphi and back,—a 
thousand stadia (about a hundred miles). The exertion, how- 
ever, cost him his life. 


NOTE 34, p- 45. 

The PRYTANEIUM was a large hall where the prytanes (see 
note 23, p. 24) transacted their business, and dined at a com- 
mon table, maintained at public expense for them, for guests 
of the city, and for certain citizens to whom this honour was 
awarded in return for distinguished services to the country. 


NOTE 35, p-.47- 
SIMONIDES, the author of this ode, was a native of the island 
of Ceos. He cultivated all styles of poetry, but particularly 
excelled in epigrams, of which some hundred remain. In the 


= 


NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 135 


ode in question, which was written to celebrate a chariot victory 
of Scopas one of the tyrants of Thessaly, Simonides, to avoid 
censure for awarding open praise to a tyrant, dwells upon a 
saying of Pittacus to the effect that it is hardly possible for 
men to_be-gcood, and declares that since it is useless to war 
against the impossible, they who are not absolutely vicious are 
worthy of respect and honour. Scopas, far from satisfied by 
this generalisation, withheld from Simonides the half of his 
payment, bidding him seek the rest at the hands of the Dioscuri 
(Castor and Pollux), with whose eulogy the ode ended. Their 
reward was not long in forthcoming. Shortly after, as the poet 
sat at table with Scopas.and his guests he received an urgent 
summons in obedience to which he left the building and no 
sooner had he done so than the walls fell, burying all within. 
The bodies of the dead were recognised only by the help of 
Simonides, whose memory enabled him to recollect the place 
of each guest at the table. This anecdote, which is at least 
ben trovato, accounts for a tradition that Simonides was the 
inventor of the art of mnemonics. 


NOTE 36, p. 47. 

PirTacus of Mitylene in Lesbos, who, like many others, was 
classed among the seven wise men of Greece, played an im- 
portant part in the history of his native city. His services were 
rewarded by his appointment as governor, in which capacity he 
ruled with the greatest moderation and sagacity. One of the 
laws attributed to him was that any fault committed under 
the influence of wine should receive double punishment. His 
practical wisdom was shown no less by his pithy sayings than 
by his political sagacity. 


NOTE 37, p. 48. 


This quotation is from Hesiod’s Works and Days (285 fol.). 
Compare Matt. vii. 14: “Strait is the gate and narrow is the 
way which leadeth unto life.” _ 


136 NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. 


NOTE 38, p. 51. 

In the Symposium, 220 A, Alcibiades tells us that Socrates, » 

at Potidaea, “although he did not care to drink, yet when con- 

strained to do so outdid everybody else; and, most wonderful 
of all,no man had ever beheld Socrates drunk.” 


NOTE 39, p. 52. 


This reference is to the passage where Diomede, on volun- 
teering to visit the Trojan camp as a spy, asks that a compan- 
ion may go with him. 

* My heart and the spirit of valiance within me, O Nestor 
Is prompted to enter the lines of the foeman hard by us, — 
The Trojan’s ; but now, if some comrade will join and go with me, 
More spirit and comforting warmth shall there be in the venture. 
Let two go together, and one understands ere the other 
How gain shall be compassed; alone, even well understanding, 
Yet one man in forethought is scant, and of flimsy devices.” 
— Iliad, 220-229. 
NOTE 40, p. 56. 

This passage has been variously interpreted, and the want of 
logic no less than of candour displayed in the argument by both 
interlocutors makes the drift of their statements somewhat prob- 
lematic. Plainly put, the case would seem to stand as follows :— 

The admission of Protagoras, to the effect that the confidence 
derived from knowledge is a predicate of courage, supposes the 
union of courage and knowledge, and is therefore a step towards 
the zdentification of the two,—,that being the end which Soc- 
rates has in view. But the attempt of Socrates to prove an 
absolute identification through the assumption of an ungranted 
premise, gives Protagoras an excuse for escaping from his pre- 
vious assertion of the absolute independence of courage and 
knowledge, and for advancing a new proposition, that courage 
in the soul is like strength in the body, the result partly of 
nature and partly of training. | 

At this juncture, we should expect Socrates to maintain afresh 
that the distinctive mark of courage, that which makes it other 


NOTES ON THE PROTAGORAS. ~- 137 


than pure recklessness, is an intimate knowledge of the dan- 
gers which it must confront, since only when possessed of this 
knowledge may a man “ unarmed, face dangers with a heart of 
trust,” and to urge on new grounds the absolute identification of 
this knowledge with courage. That Socrates instead of urging 
this point should, as he does, abruptly shift his ground and 
adopt another line of attack, implies a tacit though tardy recog- 
nition of the truth contained in the last proposition of Protag- 
oras. 

The identification of knowledge and virtue was a favourite 
doctrine with Socrates, and it constantly recurs in the dialogues 
of Plato, though often in a modified form. In the Republic 
(429 C-430 C), the lawless daring of the wild beast and the 
slave, which has nothing to do with education, is spoken of as 
unworthy to be called by the name of courage. We read there, 
that, as the dyer is at great pains to prepare the white ground 
which best receives and longest retains all other dyes, so the 
wise man, by right education, prepares the soul to receive and 
retain the dye of the laws and of right convictions concerning 
dangers and all other matters, that thus no lye, such as pleas- 
ure or fear or pain, which may come thereafter, may have 
any power to wash it away. 

“Ethical virtue,” says Aristotle (Vicomachean Ethics, B. V1. 
c. 2), “is a habit informed by purpose, and purpose is impulse 
guided by deliberate choice. If, therefore, the purpose is to 
be worthy, the principle must be true and the impulse right; 
whatever is affirmed by the one, the other must pursue.” Here 
we see both sides of the truth in their relation to each other. 
In the union of impulse and reason all virtue is comprised ; 
only in the light of practical wisdom, which alone can point out 
the end to be striven for, does virtue unfold itself. 


O 


7 


NOTES ON THE REPUBLIC. 


NOTE 41, p. 65. 


THE PEIRAEUS was the chief port of Athens. It was the 
ome of the mefics—this term including all resident Greeks . 
not of Athenian parentage —and of the foreign residents, as 
at this day are the ports of Galata and Pera in Constantinople. 


NOTE 42, p- 65. 


Plato and his two brothers, GLAUCON and ADEIMANTUS, 
claimed descent on their father’s side from Codrus, the last 
king of Athens; while through their mother, Perictione, they 
were nephews of Critias, the leader of the violent faction of 
the Thirty Tyrants, and were also connected with the great 
law-giver Solon. Glaucon is said to have written a number of 
dialogues, none of which, however, are extant. A conversation 
between him and Socrates is given in the Memorabilia of 
Xenophon (iii. 6) in which Glaucon is cured of a wild ambition 
to put himself at the head of public affairs, by being led to 
perceive and acknowledge his own ignorance and incapacity. 

ADEIMANTUS, who is shortly to be introduced, is known to | 
us only by the representation of him in the Hepudblic. 


NOTE 43, p- 65. 


The worship of BENDIS, the Thracian Artemis, was first cele- 
brated in Athens by a public festival at the time when Plato 
represents this dialogue as opening. 

138 


oe eae 
i: 


NOTES ON THE REPUBLIC. 139 


NOTE 44, p. 65. 

POLEMARCHUsS and his younger brother Lystas subsequently 
joined the Athenian colony which had been sent by Pericles 
to found Thurii, a city in the southern part of Italy, or Magna 
Grecia. Here the two brothers remained until the disturbances 
which followed the failure of the Athenian expedition against 
Syracuse compelled their return to Athens. They there founded 
a manufactory of shields, and amassed a large fortune which 
excited the cupidity of the Thirty Tyrants. Without accusa- 
tion or trial, Polemarchus was sentenced to drink the hemlock, 
while Lysias only escaped with his life by fleeing to Megara. 
The oration which, upon his return to Athens, he pronounced 
against Eratosthenes in order to avenge his brother’s death, 
gave him great reputation; and he was able to retrieve his for- 
tune by carrying on a school of oratory, but principally by the 
speeches which he wrote to be delivered in the law-courts by 
his clients, on their own behalf. Of these he is said to have 
written no less than four hundred and twenty-five, of which 
however one hundred and ninety-two were believed to be 
spurious. 

NOTE 45, p. 66. 


The riches of NICERATUS rendered him also a victim of the 


- Thirty. He is said to have taken a deep interest in literary 


matters, and to have known by heart so much of Homer that 
upon one occasion he held a contest with certain rhapsodists, — 
men whose profession it was to recite verses publicly, especially 
those of Homer. But he is best known as the son of Nicias, 
whose career, characterised by its patriotism and successful 
generalship during the early part of the Peloponnesian war, 
had the disastrous ending which Browning has summed up in 
these words :— 
“ When poor, reluctant Nicias, pushed by fate, 
Went falteringly against Syracuse, 
And there shamed Athens, lost her ships and men, 


And gained a grave, or death without a grave.” 
— Balaustion’s Adventure. 


140 NOTES ON THE REPUBLIC. 


NoTE 46, p. 66. 


The closing line in the following passage from Lucretius is an 
evident allusion to this feature of the Athenian Bendideia : — 
*¢ The sum of all things always thus renews, 
And man lends man the borrowed life men use; 
Some races wane, while others wax more strong; 
Changed in brief time all kinds through life that throng 
Shall all like runners pass life’s torch along.” 
— De R. N. IL, 45-79. 
“ NOTE 47, p. 67. 
For LYSIAS see note 44. 
THRASYMACHUS was a famous teacher of rhetoric, his style 
being regarded as a happy medium between the flowery elo- 
quence of Gorgias and the simple directness of Lysias. Grote 
thinks that he is here misrepresented by Plato; but the account 
of him given in the epudlic is confirmed by Aristotle’s allusion 
(Rhet. I11., 1413 a. 8) to his jeers at Niceratus on the occa- 
sion of his defeat in the contest above mentioned (note 45), and 
also by a pun upon the name of Thrasymachus, made to ridi- 
cule his contentiousness (/’e?. II., 1400 b. 20). In the Phedrus 
he is nicknamed the “ rhetorical giant of Chalcedon.” 
Of EUTHYDEMUS, CHARMANTIDES, and CLEITOPHON noth- 
ing is known. 
NoTE 48, p. 67. 


CEPHALUS was a native of Syracuse, who, at the instance of 
his friend Pericles, had taken up his abode in the Peiraeus, the 
foreign quarter of Athens. Lysias, in the celebrated speech 
above mentioned, alludes to the fact that three houses were at 
this time owned by the family, and we have other evidence of 
the ease and prosperity which surrounded its members. 


NOTE 49, p. 67. 


Acts of private worship among$t the Greeks may be classed _ 
under three heads : — 
A. Those which involved ceremonies of a special nature, 


: 
r = P 
r F 

* 


NOTES ON THE REPUBLIC. I4I 


being connected with certain divinities who were patrons of 
certain families, races, or trades. 

B. Those which had to do with family events, as marriages, 
births, and deaths. 

C. Those which were binding upon every God-fearing man in 
his own house, and of which domestic sacrifices, such as 
Cephalus is about to make, formed a chief part. Of these 
Hesiod speaks when he says (Works and Days, v.v. 335-339), — 

** The rites to the utmost fulfil of the gods everlasting, 

Be holy and pure: thou shalt burn richest thighs as thine offering, 
And oft with libations and incense propitiate Heaven, 
When darkness prompts thee to sleep, as when sun-dawn awakes thee.” 

Before paying homage to other gods, an appeal was made to 
Hestia, whose holy place was the family hearth, and often also 
to Zeus Ephestios, the protector of the home. Both of these 
divinities were connected with public as well as with private 
worship; while a third, Zeus Ktesios (the provider), was wor- 

-shipped almost exclusively in private. The opinion given 
a little later by Cephalus as to the true value of riches has a 
peculiar appropriateness, if we imagine him as about to com- 
plete a thank-offering to Zeus Ktesios for the good gifts with 
which his family was so bountifully supplied. 


NOTE 50, p. 68. 


A Homeric phrase frequently met with in the poets. See 
Iliad, xxii. 60; Odyssey, xv. 348; Hesiod, Works and Days, 
329. 

NOTE 51, p. 68. . 

“ Equals delight in equals” is Jowett’s translation of the 
proverb here alluded to, which is quoted in the Phedrus, 240 C. 
It is meant, however, to apply only to equals in age. 


NOTE 52, p. 70. 


The island of SERIPHOS was one of the smallest and least 
important of the Cyclades. 


142 NOTES ON THE REPUBLIC. 


NOTE 53, p. 70. 
Cicero’s treatise on old age (ii. and iii.) contains an almost 


literal translation of this passage. The question about the . 


road which all must travel is asked by Laelius and is followed 
by Cato Major’s answer,—an exact reproduction of that of 
Cephalus, with the single exception that the anecdote about 
Sophocles is reserved for later use (xiv). Laelius then asks the 
- question about money, which receives the same answer as 
that given by Cephalus, neither anecdote nor comment being 
omitted. 
NOTE 54,.p. 72. 


Fragments of Pindar, 198 [233]. Bergk’s edition. 


NOTE 55, p- 74. 
On being criticised by his friend Atticus for having in the 
second and third books of the dialogue, called De Oratore, 
suppressed Scaevola, one of the prominent characters in the 
first book, Cicero writes: “I did exactly what Plato, our inspired 
master, has done in his Refudlic. For when Socrates first 
arrives at the house of Cephalus, his aged and cheerful host 
takes part in the discussion until the first topic of discourse is 
exhausted: then, as soon as he has comfortably said his own 
say, he declares that he must go to. attend to the sacrifices ; 
nor does he again appear. I believe that Plato thought it 
hardly proper to involve a man of his years in so protracted a 
discussion.” — Ad Aft. iv. xvi. a. 3. 


NOTE 56, p. 75- 

Justice is here taken, not in its narrow meaning of simple 
equity, but in its broad scriptural sense of righteousness. 

That justice— which embraces the whole duty of man— 
is essentially an art, is maintained by Aristotle, who asserts that, 
even more than other arts, it requires the most practiced skill 
to be brought to perfection. Thus he says (Vic. Evhics, I. 
p. IOI, I-5 a.), — 


=e ae 
7 
; 


NOTES ON THE REPUBLIC. 143 


“We believe that the truly good and sensible man bears all 
fortunes with dignity, and always makes the best of whatever 
falls to his lot; just as a good general uses the army ready to 
his hand so as best to fulfil the purposes of war, and as the 
shoemaker makes the best shoe out of the leather that has 
been given him.” 

NOTE 57, p. 76. 


This quotation is from the passage descriptive of the visit 
paid by Odysseus to 
‘* Autolycus, sire of his mother, who greatly exceeded 
All men both in falsehood and thieving, —a god gave the gift, 
Even Hermes himself; of lambs and of kids, grateful offerings, 
The thigh-bones he burned; and the god, not displeased, sent his help.” 
— Odyssey, xix. 395-398. 


NoTE 58, p. 78. 


The tradition was, that, on meeting a wolf, the man must be 
the first to catch the beast’s eye, otherwise he would be struck 
dumb, 

NOTE 59, Pp. 79. 


“Verbal irony may be described as a figure which enables the 
speaker to convey his meaning with greater force, by means of 
a contrast between his thought and his expression, or, to speak 
more accurately, between the thought which he evidently designs 
to express, and that which his words properly signify. ... 
There is, however, an irony which deserves to be distinguished 
from the ordinary species by a different name, and which may 
be properly called dialectic trony. . .. The writer effects his 


. purpose by placing the opinion of his adversary in the fore- 


ground, and saluting it with every demonstration of respect, 
while he is busied in withdrawing, one by one, all the supports 
on which it rests; and he never ceases to approach it with an 
air of deference, until he has completely undermined it, when 
he leaves it to sink by the weight of its own absurdity.” — 
Thirlwall’s Jrony of Sophocles. Philological Museum, Cam 
bridge, 1833. : 


144 NOTES ON THE REPUBLIC. 


NOTE 60, p. 86. 


This proverb was used to ridicule those who undertook what 
was beyond their strength. 


NOTE 61, p. 93. 


In emphasising this reason as an inducement to enter public 
life, Socrates appeals to a lower motive than he usually seeks 
to arouse in his hearers. Thus, in a conversation with Aristip- 
pus in which he sets forth the duty of assuming offices of 
responsibility, Socrates, in speaking of those “who labour that 
they may gain strength both of body and of mind, and that 
they may govern their own household well, and perform kind- 
nesses for their friends and services, for their country,” asks 
how it can be imagined, that, “ with such objects in view, these 
men will not labour with all gladness and lead a life of true 
delight, well content with themselves, and receiving the praise 
and admiration of other men?” — XEN. Mem. II. 1. 19. 


NOTE 62, p. 107. 
“ There is a just man that perisheth in his righteousness, and 
there is a wicked man that prolongeth his life in his wicked- 
ness.” — Eccles. vii. 15. 


NOTE 63, p. 108. 


The allusion is to the character of Amphiaraus as described 
by Aeschylus in the Seven against Thebes, from which these 
lines are quoted: — 

“On his rounded shield no blazon could men find, 
Best to be, not seem, he makes his life’s pursuit, 
Garnering from the deep-spread plough-lands of his mind, 
Harvests rich in wholesome wisdom’s ripened fruit. 
Send, I charge, against him, rowers bold and skilled, 
Feared of men is he whom fear of God hath filled.” 
— v.v. 587-592 

“In some of the MSS., the word ‘just’ stands in place 

of ‘best’ [in line 588], and the story runs that when the 


NOTES ON THE REPUBLIC. - 145 


play was first represented, the actor who was speaking the part 
and the whole audience looked towards Aristides ‘the just,’ to 
whom alone they felt that the description was applicable.” — 
Plutarch, Aristides, ch. 3. 


NOTE 64, p. I12. 


“ The labour of the righteous tendeth to life: the fruit of the 
wicked to sin.” — Prov. x. 16. 


NOTE 65, p. 114. 


This name was first given to a mournful song with flute 
accompaniment, which seems originally to have been brought 
from Asia Minor, but it was finally applied to a particular 
kind of metre whenever used, quite irrespective of the subject. 
Always, however, it is the expression of the poet’s own per- 
sonal feelings in contradistinction to the impersonal character 
which belongs to epic poetry. | 


NOTE 66, p. 114. 


As we do not know what date to assign to this dialogue, it 
is uncertain which of the many battles fought at Megara is 
here meant. 


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Four years ago, the literary world was surprised and delighted by 
the appearance of a new translation, by an unknown hand, of some of 
Plato's immortal masterpieces, which was at once pronounced by scholars 
far superior to any ever before given to English readers. The costliness 
of the elegant little volume, though it seemed an appropriate setting to the 
gems it contained, put it beyond the reach of the masses of the people and so 
hindered its chief object. It has now been issuedin a new, cheaper, but still 
very attractive edition, which will bring within the means of every reader, 
an acquaintance with the great philosspher and his greater master, 


[From the Boston Courier.] 

‘This book is a most valuable addition to the useful literature of the day. It will 
give those unacquainted with Greek a very clear idea of the writings of Plato, and of the 
character and teachings of his master. The translation, although not claiming to be lit- 
eral, could hardly be bettered, and the words of the philosopher are clothed in the purest, 
simplest, and most expressive English. Rarely has a work been translated from the 
Greek that has so faithfully preserved the spirit of the original. Professor Goodwin was 
right in thinking that this volume would be welcomed by many to whom Plato and Socra- 
tes had hitherto been only venerated names, and the translator is deserving of the warm 
thanks of all who have not had the advantage of what is called a liberal education, for 
placing within their reach a volume that contains the essence of writings that the scholar 
has laboriously toiled after. It is a model trans‘ation in every respect, and one that can 
be easily read and understood. Some idea of the scope of the book may be obtained from 


the following extract from the admirable introduction by the professor of Greek at Harvard ‘ 


College: ‘The Apology giving Plato’s report of the memorable defence which he had 
heard from his master’s lips in the Athenian court shows the eccentric but sturdy inde- 
pendence of Socrates, the inflexible resolution with which he executed what he believed 
to be a divine command, and the calm fearlessness with which he announced to the court 
that he should obey God rather than man, and that no human power should compel him 
to desert his post. It also gives an amusing account of the manner in which Socrates 
went about exposing ignorance and convicting imposture. The Crito gives an opposite 
but no less striking view of the character of Socrates, showing the real respect for the laws 
and institutions of his country, which he felt under all his defiant independence. . . . 
In the Phedo we have the effective narrative of the closing scene of the life of 
Socrates, with the conversation on the soul and immortality, which Plato represents him 
as holding with his friends during the few last hours before he drank the hemlock.’ ” 


*,* For Sale by all booksellers, or sent, by mail, upon receipt of price, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, PUBLISHERS, 


743 AND 745 Broapway, NEw YorK, 


MOCKATES: 


CRITICAL NOTICES. 


From the N. E. Fournal of Education. 


‘¢ As educators, and interested in general popular culture, we are very glad that the 
Messrs. Scribner have now wisely brought this delightful little book within reach of all 
xeaders. . Its first appearance, in more costly form, four years ago, was a sensation in the 
literary world. The unknown translator—now known to be a lady—took rank at once 
among the best interpreters of these immortal dialogues to English pas whether for 
grasp of the original, or strength and beauty of English. 

‘*As many more will read this second edition than had access to the first, we will 


. briefly review some of its excellencies, with the desire especially of calling the attention of 


teachers to its admirable adaptation to use in schools and classes of literature.”? 
From the N. Y. Evening Post. 


“‘ The translation is supremely good, rendering the original into pure, simple, direct 
and lucid English, not absolutely literal, and yet so nearly so that only a careful compar- 
ison with the Greek reveals its departures from exact literalness ; and these departures are 
uniformly in the interest of perspicuousness and simplicity in the English idiom. We do 
not at the moment remember any translation of a Greek author which is a better specimen 
of idiomatic English than this, or a more faithful rendering of the real spirit of the original 
into English as good and as simple as the Greek. . . . Such a translation as he here 
offers makes the reading of the original well nigh superfluous. His English text is Greek 
in its strength and nervous energy, and it carries with it much of the charm of the 
original.” | : 

From the N. Y. Observer. 

“‘ There are even yet many people, no doubt, to whom Plato is an unknown writer, 
and who have never read the wonderful defence of Socrates before his judges, or the 
still more remarkable account of his last hours and death. We envy such the pleasure of 
reading this little volume and making the acquaintance of that one, who, of all the heathen 
philosophers, most nearly apprehended the spirit of Christianity and “ the power of an 
endless life.” 

From the Chicago Tribune. 


‘The fragments embodied in this little book are stamped with such greatness and 
purity as the world has seldom seen, even in its most favored centuries. The public owes 
a debt of gratitude for such a work, both to translator and publisher.” 


From the New York Times. 


“We have ‘carefully compared the present translations with Jowett’s, Whewell’s 
Victer Cousin’s and others, and they seem to us to convey more of the original tone of 
the Greek, and at the same time to be more in harmony with modern style than any of 
these famous versions. 


*,* For Sale by all booksellers, or sent, post-paid, upon receipt of price, by 


CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, PuBLisHERs, 


743 AND’ 745 BrRoapway, NEW YORK. 
‘ fover. 


A New Edition, Library Style, 


Ghe History of Greere, 


By Prof. Dr. ERNST CURTIUS, 


Translated by ApotpHus WinL1am Warp, M.A., Fellow of St. Peter’s College, Cam- 
bridge, Prof. of History in Owen’s College, Manchester. 


UNIFORM WITH MOMMSEN’S HISTORY OF ROME. 


Five volumes, crown 8vo, gilt top. . Price per set, $10.00. 


———E—— 


Curtius’s History of Greece is similar in plan and purpose to Mommsen’s 
History of Rome, with which it deserves to rank in every respect as one of 
the great masterpieces of historical literature. Avoiding the minute de- 
tails which overburden other similar works, it groups together in a very 
_ picturesque manner all the important events in the history of this king- 
dom, which has exercised such a wonderful influence upon the world’s 
civilization. The narrative of Prof. Curtius’s work is flowing and ani- 
mated, and the generalizations, although bold, are philosophical and 
sound. | 

CRITICAL NOTICES. 

“ Professor Curtius’s eminent scholarship is a sufficient guarantee for the trustworthiness 
of his history, while the skill with which he groups his facts, and his effective mode of narrat- 
ing them, combine to render it no less readable than sound. Prof. Curtius everywhere 


maintains the true dignity and impartiality of history, and it is evident his sympathies are 
on the side of justice, humanity, and progress.” — London Atheneum. 


*¢ We cannot express our opinion of Dr. Curtius’s book better than by saying that it may 
be fitly ranked with Theodor Mommsen’s great work.” — London Spectator. 


** As an introduction to the study of Grecian history, no previous work is comparable to 
the present for vivacity and picturesque beauty, while in sound learning and accuracy of 
statement it is not inferior to the elaborate productions which enrich the literature of the 
age.” — NV. Y. Daily Tribune. 


“The History of Greece is treated by Dr. Curtius so broadly and freely in the spirit of 
the nineteenth century, that it becomes in his hands one of the worthiest and most instruct- 
ive branches of study for all who desire something more than a knowledge of isolated facts 
for their education. This translation ought to become a regular part of the accepted course 
of reading for young men at college, and for all who are in training for the free political 
__ life of our country.” — WV. Y. Evening Post. 


CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, PustisHErs, 


743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 


ae ea 


A New Edition, Library Style. 


@he Historp of Wome, 


FROM THE EARLIEST TIME TO THE PERIOD OF ITS DECLINE. 
By Dr. THEODOR MOMMSEN. 


Translated, with the author’s sanction and additions, by the Rev. W. P Dickson, Regius 
Professor of Biblical Criticism in the University of Glasgow, late Classical Examiner of. 
the University of St. Andrews. With an introduction by Dr. LEonHarD Scumrtz, and 
a copious Index of the whole four volumes, prepared especially for this edition. 


\ REPRINTED FROM THE REVISED LONDON EDITION. 
Four Volumes, crown 8vo, gilt top. Price per Set, $8.00. 


—— 


Dr. MomMsEN has long been known and appreciated through his re- 
searches into the languages, laws, and institutions of Ancient Rome and 
Italy, as the most thoroughly versed scholar now living in these depart- 
ments of historical investigation. To a wonderfully exact and exhaustive 
knowledge of these subjects, he unites great powers of generalization, a 
vigorous, spirited, and exceedingly graphic style and keen analytical pow- 
ers, which give this history a degree of interest and 4 permanent value 
possessed by no other record of the decline and fall of the Roman Com- 
monwealth. ‘Dr. Mommsen’s work,” as Dr. Schmitz remarks in the 
introduction, “though the production of a man of most profound and ex- 
tensive learning and knowledge of the world, is not as much designed for 
the professional. scholar as for intelligent readers of all classes who take 
an interest in the history of by-gone ages, and are inclined there to seek 
information that may guide them safely through the perplexing mazes of 
modern history.” 

CRITICAL NOTICES. 


“ A work of the very highest merit ; its learning is exact and profound; its narrative full 
of genius and. skill; its descriptions of men are admirably vivid. We wish to place on 
record our opinion that Dr. Mommsen’s is by far the best history of the Decline and Fall 
of the Roman Commonwealth.” — London Times. 

“This is the best history of the Roman Republic, taking the work on the whole — the 
author’s complete mastery of his subject, the variety of his gifts and acquirements, his 
graphic power in the delineation of national and individual character, and the vivid interest 
which he inspiresin every portion of his book. He is without an equal in his own sphere.’ 
—LEdinburgh Review. 


CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, PusLisHErs, 
743 AND 745 BroaDwaAy, NEW YORK. 


The Religions of the Ancient World 


Including Egypt, Assyria and Babylonia, Persia, India, 
Phoenicia, Etruria, Greece, Rome. 


» By GEORGE RAWLINSON, M.A. 
One Volume, 12mo, a - - - $1.00. 


Uniform with ‘‘ The Origin of Nations.” 


Canon Rawlinson’s great learning and his frequent contribu- 
tions to the history of ancient nations qualify him to treat the 
subject of this volume with a breadth of view and accuracy of 
knowledge that few other writers can lay claim to. The treatise 
is not intended to give an exhaustive review of ancient religions, 
but to enable the students of history to form a more accurate 
apprehension of the inner life of the ancient world. 

*« The historical studies which have elevated this author’s works to the 
highest position have made him familiar with those beliefs which once di- 
rected the world’s thought; and he has done literature no better service 
than in this little volume... . . The book is, then, to be accepted 
as a sketch, and’as the most trustworthy sketch in our language, of the re- 
ligions discussed,""—V. Y. Christian Advocate. ¢ 


THE ORIGIN OF NATIONS 


By Professor GEORGE RAWLINSON, M.A. 


One Volume, 12mo. With maps, - - $1.00. 


The first part of this book, Early Civilizations, discusses the - 
antiquity of civilization in Egypt and the other early nations of 
the East. The second part, Ethnic Affinities in the Ancient 
World, is an examination of the ethnology of Genesis, showing 
its accordance with the latest results of modern ethnographical 
science. 

** An attractive volume, which is well worthy of the careful consideration 
of every reader.’’— Observer. 


‘* A work of genuine scholarly excellence and a useful offset to a great 
deal of the superficial current literature on such subjects.” 
—Congregationalist, 
_ ‘Dr. Rawlinson brings to this discussion long and patient research, a 
vast knowledge and intimate acquaintance with what has been written on 
both sides of the question.”"—Brooklyn Union-Argus, 


“3 Kor Sale by all booksellers, or sent, post-paid, upon receipt of price, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, PuBLIsHERs, 
743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YorK. 


= 
» 
— > 
Wey 


According to the Bible and the Traditions of the Oriental Peoples. From 
the Creation of Man to the Deluge. By Francois LENORMANT, 
ee of Archceology at the National Library of France, etc. 

__ )({Translated from the Second French Edition). With an introduction 


/ by Francis Brown, Associate Professor in Biblical Philology, 
Union’ Theological Seminary. 


at 
Gt 
D 


1/Vol., 12mo, G00 pages, - - = §$2.50. 


| 
| “ What should we see in the first chapters of Genesis ?’’ writes M. Lenor- 
inant in his preface—‘‘A revealed narrative, or a human tradition, gathered 
up for preservation by inspired writers as the oldest memory of their race ? 
This is the problem which I have been led to examine by comparing the nar- 
rative of the Bible with those which were current among the civilized peo- 
ples of most ancient origin by which Israel was surrounded, and from the 

midst of which it came.” 

The book is not more erudite than it is absorbing in its interest. It has 
had an immense influence upon contemporary thought; and has approached 
its task with an unusual mingling of the reverent and the scientific spirit. 


ee Pe Oe. Vo ee ee en ee ee ee 


_ 


S ™ 

** That the ‘ Oriental Peoples’ had legends on the Creation, the Fall of Man, the 
Deluge, and other primitive events, there is no denying. Nor is there any need of 
denying it, as this admirable volume shows. Mr. Lenormant is not only a believer 
in igclation. but a devout confessor of what came by Moses; as well as of what came 
by Christ. In this explanation of Chaldean, Babylonian, Assyrian and Phenician 
tradition, he discloses a Sk namie of thought-and skill allied to great variety of pur- 
suit, and diligent manipulation of what he has secured. He ‘spoils the Egyptians’ 
~ by boldly using for Christian panpoors materials, which, if left unused, might be 
_ turned against the credibility of the Mosaic records. 
_. ** From the mass of tradition here examined it would seem that if these ancient 
legends have a common basis of truth, the first part of Genesis stands more generally 
related to the religious history of mankind, than if it is taken primarily as one account, 
by one man, to one people. " ‘ 4 While not claiming for the author the 
setting forth of the absolute truth, nor the drawing from what he has set forth the 
soundest conclusions, we can assure our readers of a diminishing fear of learned un- 
_ belief after the perusal of this work.’’—7e New Euglander. 


a4 


“‘ With reference to the book as a whole it may be said: (1). That nowhere else can 

one obtain the mass of information upon this subject in so convenient a form; (2). That 
_ the investigation is conducted in a truly scientific manner, and with an eminently 
_ Christian spirit ; (3). That the results, though very different from those in common 
acceptance, contain much that is interesting and to say the least, plausible ; (4). That 
_ the author while he seems in a number of cases to be injudicious in his state, 
_ ments and conclusions, has done work in investigation and in working out details that 
a of service to all, whether general readers or specialists.”"—The Hebrew 
Student. 


“* The work is one that deserves to be studied by all students of ancient history, and 
_ in particular by ministers of the Gospel, whose office requires them to interpret the 
Scriptures, and who ought not to be ignorant of the latest and most interesting cons 
_ tribution of science to the elucidation to the sacred volume.”’—New York T vibune, 


#,% For Sale by all booksellers, or sent, post-paid, upon receipt of price, 


CHARLES SCRIBNER&S SONS, PuBLisHERs, 
743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEw YorK, 


A MONUMENT OF MODERN SCH OLARSHIP, 


THE DIALOGUES OF PLATO. 


TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH, WITH ANALYSIS AND INTRODUCTIONS, 


By B. JOWETT, M.A., 
MASTER OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD, AND REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK. 


A NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION. 
Four Volumes, Crown 8vo, $8.00 per Set, in Cloth. 


By this reduction in price, the well-known translation of Plato’s 
Dialogues, by Professor Jowett, is to be brought more generally 
within the reach of students and others. 


From the New York Tribune. 


“The present work of Professor Jowett will be welcomed with profound in- 
terest, as the only adequate endeavor to transport the most precious monument 
of Grecian thought among the familiar treasures of English literature. The noble 
reputation of Professor Jowett, both as a thinker and a scholar, it may be pre- © 
mised, however, is a valid guaranty for the excellence of his performance. He 
is known as one of the most hard-working students of the English universities, 
in the departments of philology and criticism, whose exemplary diligence is fully 
equalled by his singular acuteness of penetration, his clear and temperate judg- 
ment, and his rare and absolute fidelity to the interests of truth.” 


PLATO'S BEST THOUGHTS. 


As COMPILED FROM PROFESSOR JOWETT’S TRANSLATION OF THE 
DIALOGUES OF PLATO. 


By Rev. C. H. A. BULKLEY. 
A NEW EDITION. PRICE REDUCED TO $1.50. 
One Volume, Crown 8vo. 


“This volume makes the best things in Plato accessible and available, and its — 
index gives it the character of a dictionary.” — The Evangelist. 


*,* Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, “~/% 


743 AND 745 BROADWAY, NEW YoRK. 


~~ 
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